And All Her Paths are Peace
by tonygirl
Summary: The road less traveled.' 'The path not taken.' None of these sayings described her life, even after one tragic moment thrust her into a world she didn't understand. But, sometimes, you have to change to survive. Skinner/OC. Rated T, just to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

Hi, all! Just to give you fair warning, this is not MSR. Actually, Mulder and Scully do appear quite frequently (but not until Chapter 4 at first), but this is most certainly not about them. Don't hate me! I warned you! Everyone else jumps in and out, too - Krychek, CSM, the Lone Gunmen, etc - but the focus is not on them. And, I do try to follow story lines already laid out before us by the very talented Chris Carter. But, sometimes, I veer away just a tad. Because it's fan fiction, and that's what it's all about! Oh, and this does dabble in the mytharc storyline, adding to it, I guess you could say.

Oh, and before I forget, I own nothing to do with the X-Files and make no coin from this. You can thank Chris and company for that!

* * *

Assistant Director Walter Skinner sometimes hated his job. The endless mounds of paperwork, most of it unnecessary, but required. Superiors that felt the need to throw their weight around, usually at the most inopportune moments. The case files that seemed like they stayed on his desk so long, they grew roots and flourished.

And a certain two agents who were going to drive him certifiably insane. If they weren't stirring up trouble, he was spending half his day getting them _out_ of trouble.

Honestly, he didn't know why he bothered.

Yes . . . he did.

They were both brilliant in their own ways, he with his ability to follow through on his beliefs and she with the rational way she worked through a case. They complemented each other. Sometimes, a little too much.

And, it seemed they were on the brink of uncovering something that nightmares were made of. Rather he wanted to believe it or not.

It also appeared, rather he knew it or not, that he was a cog in the wheel of destruction that threatened to take out everything in its path.

And when he said _everything_, he meant _everything_.

Skinner also considered himself a fairly open individual, ready to face the possibility that there were things out there beyond human comprehension, ideas and even physical evidence that mankind had yet to uncover. Not that he would ever embrace all these old wives' tales like Mulder. That went a little too far. But, they did deserve some sort of consideration.

He took a sip of coffee and shook his head, thinking of the poster in Mulder's office.

'I Want To Believe.'

Well, Skinner was having a hard time believing that aliens were going to take over the planet with the help of a secret syndicate 50 years in the making.

Scratch that.

He didn't _want_ to believe it. No matter what evidence Mulder and Scully dug up that said otherwise.

The powers that be apparently didn't make posters that said, 'I _Don't_ Want To Believe.'

That thought alone made him chuckle to himself.

Quietly, his dinner materialized in front of him. The waitress sat his food on the table with a minimum of fuss, complete with the sauce he always requested for his steak, topped off his coffee and vanished. No chit-chat. No questions at all.

Skinner loved efficiency. Thrived on it, even.

But, the waitress's quiet competence was not the only reason he frequented this establishment.

From the outside, _Gordo's_ was rather run-down in an Americana sort of way: flashing neon sign, only half of it working; brick façade crumbling, cracked windows that looked like they had never been cleaned.

But, the food was superb. Conveniently located between his office and his apartment in Crystal City, it was all too easy to stop by and unwind.

It wasn't like he had anything to go home to, anyway. Normally, it didn't both him. He preferred the solitude. Craved it. Thrived on it.

But, sometimes, especially watching the quiet way Agents Mulder and Scully interacted, he just couldn't shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, he was missing out. They, too, interacted with a minimum of fuss, sometimes just a touch or a look between the two of them all they needed.

But, who was he kidding? He'd lived behind his own mental wall for so long, even during his ill-fated marriage, that it would just be too hard to do anything other than keep others at bay.

Although who in the world would ever put up with the crazy hours and lack of ability to answer even the most mundane questions about his day, he didn't know.

The waitress walked by, carefully placing extra napkins on the end of table, leaving a hint of her perfume behind as she breezed by. Again, no fuss, no questions, no need to converse.

He always asked for her. Anna her nametag said. Her straight brown hair, almost blonde, was always pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore the usual black slacks and white shirt that all the staff wore. That's all he knew. He never had any inclination to ask. As far as he could tell, the feeling was reciprocated.

And, as far as he knew, all she knew about him was that he liked his steaks medium rare and his coffee with just a hint of cream.

And, that he didn't want to carry on a conversation.

It had been so long since he'd had to hold a normal discussion that didn't involve murders, disemboweling or any other new way people chose to dispose of each other that he honestly didn't think he could do it.

Despite its outward appearances, _Gordo's_ was a fairly popular place, but Anna usually managed to get him a table in the back, as far from the rowdy happy hour crowd as she could. She didn't even ask him what he wanted to order. Just brought it to him. Minimum interaction. Minimal fuss.

Once, he came in, and she was not working that night. The waitress that helped him was bright, cheerful and polite.

Skinner hated it. The mundane chatter. The attempts at levity.

All he wanted was some peace and quiet after a day full of nothing but.

From then on, if Anna wasn't working, he left.

What was the point of staying if he left there with as big a headache as he arrived with?

* * *

"Whatta he leave you this time?"

Anna was wiping down the table when one of her co-workers sauntered by, hand on her ample hip. Gertie was older than Methuselah, chain smoked when she wasn't on duty and had the raspy voice to prove it. But, she had helped Anna out a few months ago when she first got this job – her first waitressing position - so Anna felt she owed it to the woman to be nice.

"Twenty." Anna had already pocketed the generous tip. Although she felt it was a little much – he was a rather easy customer to deal with, after all – there were bills to be paid. So, she didn't complain.

The restaurant side of the place was quiet, so Gertie took it upon herself to light up a cigarette, taking a deep drag as she watched Anna clean, the smoke curling out her nostrils and floating towards the cracked and peeling ceiling.

"Who is that fella, anyway? Someone you know? Old boyfriend? New boyfriend?"

A large crowd at the bar on the other side of the room started high-fiving and whooping, something to do with a basketball game on the television behind the bar, but both women ignored them. Just a normal day in the restaurant business.

Anna shrugged her slim shoulders. "I have no idea. But, if he tips like this, he could be Jack the Ripper for all I care." She picked up the tray with the dirty dishes and started back towards the kitchen. Maybe Gertie would take the hint and leave her alone.

Or maybe not. Gertie was always a little thick-skulled.

The older woman followed, talking with that raspy voice of hers. "Do you know he came in here last week? When you were off? When Gordo told him you weren't scheduled, he turned around and walked out."

Anna entered the kitchen and sat the tray down for Samuel the kitchen boy to clean, only halfway listening to the older woman. "Really? Mmmm." Washing her hands briefly, she toweled them off and went to fill the salt and pepper shakers on the table. It was Tuesday. Condiment day. Time to refill the bottles.

Gertie kept following along. "You remember awhile back when you weren't here and Katie had to wait on him? He practically ripped her head off. But, you always seem to please him." She took another drag on her cigarette and narrowed her rheumy eyes. "Why?"

Anna was gathering all the condiment bottles to one central location, making it easier on her aching leg. The less she had to limp around, the better. "I think he just wants to be left alone. And you know Katie. She even tries to make friends with the hobos in the alleyway."

Gertie shrugged. "Gordo and me think you just need to be careful, that's all. You know, he could be one of those stalkers or something."

Anna managed a smile, despite her exasperation. "Worried about me, Gertie? Is that what you and Gordo do for pillow talk now?" she chided gently.

Gertie stubbed out her cigarette in the nearest ash tray. "You don't worry about what I do in my spare time, hon. Just watch yourself, 'kay?"

Anna nodded obediently, feeling about nine-years old. But, she found it was the easiest way to get rid of the nosy, yet well-meaning woman.

Seeming satisfied, Gertie let the last bit of smoke drift from her nostrils, looking like a little old dragon and shuffled back to Gordo's office to report in.

Anna took a moment to rotate her head back and forth, working out the kinks. She found it interesting that Gertie didn't protest what she said about her and Gordo sleeping together.

Funny, Anna thought that was just a rumor. Shows what she knows.

Finding this job was a godsend, but trying to keep up with the whos, whats and whys on all the staff was aggravating.

Sometimes, she wanted to just be left alone to do her job in peace and quiet.

Maybe that's what he wanted, too. Her 'big tipper.' To be left alone.

She'd often wondered about the man herself. The only thing she knew about him was the name on his credit card, 'W. S. Skinner.' No clue what the W.S. stood for.

Oh yeah, and the fact that he carried a mean looking pistol. She saw it in his holster one night when he reached for his wallet, the jacket falling away for one brief moment.

She wondered how old he was and figured he was at least mid-forties. But, she didn't make that assumption by his obvious lack of hair. It was more in his eyes and on his face. Eyes always fascinated Anna. They truly were the window to the soul. She studied him when he wasn't looking, and he appeared . . . as if he was carrying the weight of a problem – or problems – that were plain wearing him out. Of course, anyone who carried a gun like that probably had a few issues with someone somewhere along the line. Needless to say, those dark eyes behind those glasses had seen a lot.

She never told her theory to her co-workers. They'd just laugh.

And she wouldn't dare bring it up with him.

Despite all this, he had an air of importance around him, almost as if he demanded respect and nothing else from everyone about him.

And, he seemed to get it, too, at least from the other servers. Normally, they clambered for the high-tippers, but they let her have this one.

Which was good. Anna rarely won those arguments. Usually one of the more-experienced servers got the good tippers. Anna found through trial and error that her quiet demeanor and unobtrusive attitude usually meant no tip at all.

But, she wasn't changing who she was for these people.

And she had to remind herself that important looking men in suits with guns were common in DC. That took some getting used to. Back home in Dalton, Nebraska, he would have stuck out like a sore thumb.

But here in this bustling place, _she_ stuck out like the proverbial digit.

It had its advantages. For once, she was glad to be able to fade into the background and not have everyone know her business, like at home. If she didn't get up until noon. If she visited the cemetery every day and talked to the tombstones. If she bought painkillers too often at the pharmacy.

Even though, it could be lonely at times. But, that's what her photography was for. And, she always had her dog.

Anna shook herself away from those thoughts. If she had learned anything, it was that you couldn't dwell on the past. Only the present.

And hope like hell the future is a whole lot better.

* * *

I just realized somthing. No, this isn't the bar/restaurant Skinner gets shot in by the guy that helped kill Scully's sister. What was that, season 2 or 3? Just wanted to clarify that. Let's not make this any more confusing than it has to be :-)


	2. Chapter 2

References to "End Game" towards the end of season 2

* * *

Anna didn't see him for several days. It was not unusual for him to disappear, so she never thought much about it. He was just another regular, just like the little old man who did the crossword and ordered spaghetti, no sauce and the chain-smoking guy who only ordered whiskey and a steak, no sides.

But, none were as good a tipper as this Skinner fellow.

One busy Thursday night, Cindy breezed by, tray in hand, as Anna was serving a table of four, two rowdy kids demanding their parents attention by spilling water glasses and throwing food. "Your big spender's back. Looks like he's had a rough go of it, too."

Harried, Anne sighed. How she was going to work another table into her already busy schedule was going to take some finagling.

As a result, Cindy's last comment didn't even register with her.

Thankfully, Gordo had already seated him, so she took a moment to check on her other tables and put his order in with the kitchen: steak, medium-rare, potato, only butter and sour cream. No chives. Pouring his coffee and adding the cream on the side, she made her way to the back of the restaurant.

Instead of browsing the newspaper as usual, Anna saw he was just sitting there. Staring at his hands folded on the table. The restaurant was fairly dark, the only light coming from the lamps over each table. Gordo thought it made for good atmosphere, but Anna thought he was just too cheap to replace the lights with anything brighter. Not that she told him that.

She didn't ask him how he was or any other of the expected pleasantries the servers usually gave. It was the dance they did, and no matter how odd she thought it may be, she played her part. She just sat his coffee in front of him, along with his silverware and a glass of water.

When he touched her arm gently before she could set his water glass on the table, she almost spilt it all over him.

As she stared at him, she involuntarily sucked in her breath.

* * *

Skinner knew he looked like hell. Fighting in an elevator is never an easy task, but it was the only way he could get the information on Mulder he wanted to give to Scully.

Good thing everything turned out alright in the end.

But he didn't realize how bad it was until his ever-faithful waitress's eyes widened momentarily.

He really couldn't blame her. Not once had he varied from their routine since he started coming here several months ago, and now, here he was, all black and blue, doing just that.

"Could I please have a – scotch and water?" He didn't know why he phrased it as a question. Of course, she'd bring it to him. It was her job.

But, he felt he owed it to her to be polite.

She looked momentarily taken aback, so he let go of her arm. "Uh – sure. Will there be . . . do you want anything else?" Her voice was quiet, soft. And slightly concerned.

But, then, how did he know that? He didn't even know her.

"No. That will be all." He cringed at how professional that sounded. He wasn't talking to one of his wayward agents, after all. To make up for it, he tried – and failed miserably – to give her a small smile.

There wasn't much to smile about lately.

He was surprised to note that the concern he heard in her voice reached her eyes.

They were green.

Funny, he'd never noticed that before.

And, then she was gone, leaving him to his miserable thoughts.

* * *

Anna tried not to dwell on it as she ordered his drink. It was none of her business. People tromped through here all the time, their paths crossing briefly as they ate and got on with their lives.

But, that bruise on his cheek with the butterfly bandage spoke volumes.

And, now she found herself wondering just what exactly he did for a living. She never would have guessed a man who dressed in expensive suits would get into a fist fight. Even if he did carry a mean looking gun.

But, DC was a rough place. She learned to carry mace early on, wishing sometimes when she left here late at night that she carried something a little more lethal.

But, Allen never liked guns. Refused to have them in the house.

Although he was gone, she couldn't bring herself to go out and buy one.

This time, he didn't even glance at her as she sat his scotch and water down on the table, so she went on about her business.

When his food was up, she brought it out to him. Again, no comments. Back to the old grindstone.

But, as the night wore on, she noted that he didn't eat much. Usually, he cleaned his plate. He didn't even want another scotch and water. All he did was sit there and stare at his plate or the wall. Once, his cell phone rang. He pulled it out, looked at who it was and made a face, choosing not to answer it.

As the crowds dwindled down and her work load slowed, she watched him as she pretended to be busy wiping down tables.

He was in pain. When he shifted in the chair, it registered all across his face.

Boy, whoever got ahold of him, knew what he was doing. And that said a lot. She could tell he worked out, that his upper-body strength was probably first rate. One look at the way his shirts fit over his chest and arms was all it took to come to that realization.

Always a compassionate soul, Anna couldn't just sit there and watch him suffer all alone. No matter if all he wanted her to do was her job. Nothing more.

* * *

Skinner had lost his appetite. But, for once, he was appreciative of the crowd around him. The people who had normal lives out for a normal meal. Probably, they'd go home and watch some television, tuck their children into bed, straighten up the house, then go to bed themselves. Probably put the cat out and bring the dog in before they hit the sack.

Being surrounded by such mundane things soothed his troubled spirit.

He had none of those things to look forward to. Only an empty apartment, boxes still half-unpacked from his and Sharon's divorce. At least he'd moved out of that dreary townhouse where he first moved when she kicked him not.

Not that he didn't deserve it. They were basically strangers towards the end. Mostly his fault.

Then, she'd almost died. Also his fault.

And, that was another reason not to get involved with anyone. The unseen forces that were running this show apparently would stop at nothing in reaching their goal, including harming a helpless woman, especially if it got them their way.

As his food got cold, he tried not to feel sorry for himself.

He had already paid his bill, so when his server sat something else down and scurried off, he was a little confused as to what it was.

Two aspirin. And an ice pack.

He stared at them both dumbly for a moment, then looked up. But, she was gone. Judging by the swinging doors into the kitchen, she had disappeared.

Gratefully, he picked up the ice pack, swallowing the medicine without anything to drink.

And for once, he didn't care what people thought as he put it gingerly against his bruised cheek.

That's what got him in this situation, anyway. Not admitting he needed help when he most obviously did.

Funny, only the waitress noticed – the one he only knew by her first name and nothing else.

* * *

"What happened? Who beat him up? What's the deal?"

Everyone from Samuel the dishwasher to Gordo wanted to know the scoop. Each time, her answer was the same.

"I don't know. I didn't ask." She brushed off their questions, never admitting she, too, wanted to know the exact same answers.

Anna busied herself behind the bar, the regular bartender leaving early, saying something about a paying gig for his band, of which he was the lead singer.

Anna heard him play once. The band wasn't that good.

She'd been studying the drink book during her breaks and found she had a knack for remembering the concoctions.

Who knows? Maybe she'd move up to the bartender position someday.

Her straight-laced Methodist mother would have stroke.

Isn't that what her shrink wanted her to do? Have goals. Make lists. Celebrate the everyday accomplishments.

Hey, it's better than nothing.

As she took orders, trying to remember to at least get past some of her shyness and speak to the people at the bar, she realized her one and only customer was still sitting at his table, ice pack pressed to his cheek.

He'd paid his bill. He didn't want refills.

She'd already stepped out of her comfort zone by offering him the ice pack and medicine. She should just mind her own business. He'd leave when he was ready.

* * *

His waitress wasn't coming back.

But, she had no need to. The tab was paid, and he didn't have anything left to refill. She had earned her tip and had disappeared.

Typical.

That wasn't fair, and he immediately squelched that thought. She showed him more kindness tonight than he'd had in a long time.

The kindness of a stranger. One didn't see it much in DC, but apparently, it was alive and well.

Plus, he could see her behind the bar, ponytail swinging, putting beer on tap and mixing drinks for the dwindling crowd. The basketball game was apparently over, and the rowdy college crowd had made their raucous way to the door, probably on their way to another party.

At least they had somewhere to go.

Skinner toyed with the idea of returning to his office, maybe getting some work done. It would be quiet. No interruptions. He would probably fall asleep on his couch, anyway.

But, the idea of sleeping on that couch – again – did not appeal to him, especially with his bruised ribs.

He wriggled in the seat. Surprisingly, his ribs felt a little better. Sure, his face was probably numb from that cold ice pack pressed against it, but it was sure better than the throbbing pain he had when he walked in.

He glanced towards the bar again where she'd been for the last half hour. Mixing drink orders. Skinner wondered if she was even old enough to drink, let alone serve alcohol. With her hair pulled back, she didn't look much older than 20.

But, he wasn't with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, so what did he care?

Struggling to his feet, he made his way to the door.

But, not without taking a detour to the bar.

* * *

Someone was having fun at her expense. No one ordered these rare drinks, and there certainly wasn't someone here who appeared drunk enough to be drinking them all.

Anna figured it was Sheila. The other server was much younger and much prettier than Anna, but for some reason, didn't like her. Anna didn't know why. She always made a big effort to make sure she never crossed anyone.

But, Sheila kept coming up to the bar, smirking, giving her obscure drink after obscure drink to mix.

Anna didn't let it get to her. She didn't even have to consult with the dog-eared bartenders' manual underneath the phone book.

As she was restocking the glassware, she could hear Sheila smacking her gum behind her before the girl said anything.

"IRA Car Bomb."

Anna sighed inwardly, putting what she hoped was a congenial smile on her face. She wondered who was paying for all these drinks. Gordo would have a fit if he found out.

But, she went along with it. "One IRA Car Bomb, coming up."

She took a moment gathering the supplies to make sure she remembered how to make it.

Honestly, she didn't think Sheila knew what was in it, so if she screwed it up, what did it matter?

Anna mixed her Kahlua and Bailey's shot and poured a beer mug of Irish port. Resisting the urge to watch the look on Sheila's face, she lit the shot with a cigarette lighter and dropped it with a flourish into the port, then pushed the mug over towards Sheila.

"It's best if it's chugged," she said, going back to wiping down the counter.

She allowed herself the luxury of a smile when Sheila flounced off with the flaming beverage.

* * *

Skinner had seen the entire exchange from the end of the bar. He had to admit, he was glad Anna knew what she was doing. Seeing the blonde waitress with the teased hair's smug look fade to disbelief was well worth it when Anna handed her the drink without even a glance.

He didn't know the history behind these two, but for the life of him, he couldn't see his quiet little waitress doing anything to provoke it.

Then again, he was a little partial. The other girl looked like a tart.

Ice pack in hand, he cleared his throat. "I've never had one of those myself."

Startled, Anna looked up from the counter she was wiping down, apparently not expecting an interruption, especially from him. After a few moments, she found her voice. "I have a sneaking suspicion it's just going down the drain in the ladies' room."

He risked a small smile, despite the pain to his cheek. So, he had correctly deduced what was going on.

But, he didn't make it to the assistant director with the FBI for nothing.

Anna watched him carefully, wondering if she should go back to cleaning the bar or wait to see what he wanted. When he smiled, his brown eyes softened, and she couldn't help but return it with one of her own.

Then, nothing but awkward silence. Fleetingly, Anna thought about asking him what had happened, but decided against it. Instead, she kept up her server role.

"Can I get you anything else?"

"Oh – uh – no. I just wanted to give this back." He pushed the ice pack towards her. "Thank you." He looked a little unsure of himself.

"Sure." Anna took it and tossed it underneath the counter, glad to have something to do with her hands. It made her feel like less of an idiot. "Um – I hope you get to feeling better."

"I'm doing a whole lot better than the other guy, that's for sure. I'm pretty sure I broke his nose." He didn't add he ended up staring down the barrel of a gun. Too much information.

"I figured as much. You don't look like a slouch in the fitness department." Realizing what she'd said a little too late, she blushed, then picked up her rag, rubbing fiercely at an imaginary spot on the bar.

He apparently didn't notice her discomfort. "Good night, Anna."

She never stopped scrubbing and didn't even look up. "Good night, Mr. Skinner."

For a moment, she watched his back as he disappeared into the cool DC night, suddenly curious.

_What in the world happened out there?_

When he was safely out the door, she threw the rag in the soap bucket, sloshing warm, soapy water over the sides, shaking her head at her own foolishness.

_Like he'd ever tell me!_

* * *

Anna tossed her keys on the sideboard, kicking the door closed with her foot. "Nero! I'm home!"

She was rewarded with nails clacking on the floor.

"Woof!"

He wagged his spindly tail expectantly. Anna always brought him a treat home from work.

She got to work slicing up the leftover piece of chicken into his bowl, scratching behind his ears as she set it in front of him. He wolfed it down.

"Slow down, boy, or you'll make yourself sick."

But, of course, the mangy mutt didn't listen.

Rubbing her neck, she limped through her kitchen and living room into the hallway towards her bedroom. The little house near Georgetown was small, but real estate in DC was expensive, more so than in Nebraska. It was the one thing she allowed herself to use some of the settlement money to buy. Combined with the money from selling her lovely little house in the country, she had more than enough to pay cash for it.

Her parents had a fit when she told them she was moving east. Her mother cried, ranted and raved, and her father just shook his head, but she did it anyway.

But, her whole life, she'd done what was expected of her, and all it got her was a big fat goose egg.

Wait. That wasn't entirely true.

Abby picked up the picture on her nightstand, a picture made in happier times.

She had her memories.

But, memories couldn't keep you warm at night.

Briefly, she thought of the pain killers in her medicine cabinet. Being on her feet most of the day was not good for her leg, and just one would ease the pain, if only a bit.

But, no. She'd made a promise to herself after spending months in a drug-induced fog that she would not use them unless absolutely necessary.

And, she'd been in much worse pain.

It was probably the aggravation with Sheila that made it seem worse. Gordo had a fit when he heard about the wasted alcohol and took it out on both she and the waitress.

Anna didn't even argue. She did know what Sheila was doing, so she could have stopped it. Childishly, she just wanted to show Sheila she could do it. At least Gordo was taking it out of Sheila's pay and not hers. He was usually fair like that.

As she got ready for bed, Nero padded up behind her, pressing his cold nose into her hand.

She took a moment to pat his head. He was a fairly large mixed breed, so she didn't have to lean over far.

At least she had her dog. That had to count for something, didn't it?

"I'll take you to the Mall this week. I've want to get some pictures at the memorials with all the pretty cherry blossoms. We'll stop downtown and get an ice cream. How does that sound, boy?"

Nero thumped his tail in approval.

He was never allowed on the bed in Nebraska, but ever since Allen and Scott were gone, he always slept curled up next to her. When the nightmares woke her, he would lick her face until she stopped crying, tears she shed before she even woke up against a scene she replayed over and over in her mind.

Sadly, he was probably the best friend she had. But, for now, it was all she needed in this strange place in life she found herself in.


	3. Chapter 3

Skinner needed a break. It had rained for several days straight, a rain that hinted winter's grip was not quite done. But now, the spring sun was streaming through his window, warm on his back through the opened blinds.

Plus, if he didn't get away from the stench of bad cigarette smoke, he was going to shoot someone.

With curt instructions to his assistant, he gathered his coat and made his way out of the building to temporary freedom.

He pushed out of his mind anything related to work: Scully's cancer, the weird black oil that was killing people left and right and the ever present, infuriating Cigarette Smoking Man who was using him as some sort of tool in all this.

Rather Mulder or Scully knew it, if he didn't keep that man close, they'd be dead by now. He'd helped them time and time again, sometimes in ways they never even knew, but they still distrusted him, only trusting in each other.

That was fine. He didn't need a ticker tape parade or a pat on the back. He was doing his job. Keeping his agents safe. And they needed to trust only in each other. It was the only way they might get out of this alive.

Although lately, the illusion of trust seemed to fade towards something darker and a whole lot more frightening.

He wrenched his thoughts away from these topics that seemed to plague him constantly. It really was a beautiful day. The cherry blossoms seemed to flourish with all the rain, and even the air seemed free from the pollen that plagued the city this time of year.

Sometimes the memorial was busy, full of tourists snapping pictures, the occasional grieving family member or friend seemingly all alone in a crowd, tears streaming down their faces, as they silently touched the name that meant so much to them.

But, today was quiet. It was lunchtime, so many of the tourists were packed into the restaurants downtown, busily keeping the economy afloat with their dollars.

He knew a few names on this wall. An entire squadron of his friends and fellow soldiers were etched in stone. He'd found all of the names he remembered and wondered about the ones he couldn't. Did their families come here? Did they even have any family left to mourn them?

In turn, he wondered how he'd managed to avoid having his name engraved on this forever testament of the fleeting nature of life and the destruction any war can bring.

Not that he wasn't thankful to be alive. But, sometimes, he wondered just why he was brought back. There had to be a reason. Right?

Maybe this spur-of-the-moment walk wasn't such a bright idea.

Instead of being plagued by work, he was now being taunted by more familiar demons that haunted him in his sleep. The sound of gun fire. The scream of men whose flesh had been torn from their bodies. The stench of rotting vegetation and Napalm.

Sometimes, those images even haunted him when he was awake.

* * *

Nero was always obedient, so Anna left him off his leash. But, she always kept it wrapped around her arm just in case. Little children tended to excite him, and sometimes, the mothers didn't appreciate it.

Anna tried not to think about how sad that was, her dog searching for what he knew was missing from his life.

As she snapped photos of the beautiful spring foliage, he stayed close by, snuffling through the underbrush or lying on the ground nearby as she found a good angle.

It was her catharsis for her wounded soul. She hadn't picked up a camera since her high school days before she was married, and when she ran across it in the attic of her parent's house, she started again. Much preferring film to the new digital photos, she found that many area magazines and newspapers wanted what she could offer. And, she had an extra bedroom in her little house she devoted to a dark room. When the nightmares woke her, she often ensconced herself inside of it, watching the imagines appear on paper, the scent of chemicals clinging to her clothing. It was a good side job, one she enjoyed much better than waitressing any day.

She would have been out here earlier, but the incessant rain for the past few days kept her cooped up inside. Paying homage to the sudden spring-like day, she'd thrown on an old pair of shorts left over from her long-gone teenage years and a threadbare Cornhuskers T-shirt, tossed on a pair of grungy running shoes and headed out the door with her dog in tow. Traffic was sparse for the middle of the day, and after parking her little old car in an equally small parking space, she and Nero headed to work.

Abby liked the geese and swans on the reflecting pool and tried her best to get a good shot of them swimming gracefully, the Lincoln Memorial reflected in the water. That was what was so fun about old fashioned film. She never knew how good some of them were until the images faded into view in her darkroom.

And some of them were very good.

Sometimes, she took pictures of the people, but only discreetly. Those, she rarely offered up to the publications for print. She liked to keep them. To study them and wonder how those people's lives put them in that particular place at that time to be captured on film. Her favorite was of a burly veteran selling bumper stickers near the Vietnam War Memorial that she had taken her first week in DC. He had a cigar hanging from one side of his mouth, ashes threatening to fall onto his pants as he meticulously sewed a patch onto his jacket, his meaty fingers working the needle in and out of the old leather. His wheelchair stood in silent sanctimony to his sacrifice for his country.

She printed it in black and white and pinned a copy on her wall in her darkroom. She'd come back the next day to give him a copy, but she'd never seen him again. Just another person who'd drifted in front of her camera at the right moment, then drifted away.

She ambled over to the wall, all the names on the black stone just as impressive as when she first saw it. There were new offerings today from loved ones. Abby knelt down and focused on an old teddy bear, its ear hanging crookedly by a thread and snapped a few photos.

She thought about the stuffed bear packed in a box in her parents' attic in a box simply labeled 'Scott' that never had a chance to get grungy and worn with love year after year.

Even Nero seemed to sense the gravity of the place and sat next to her obediently.

There was not a big crowd today, unusual since the weather was so nice. But, the summer tourist season was yet to be in full swing, and Anna had heard it could be quite annoying to have to fight them wherever she went.

She didn't think she'd mind. It seemed so exciting. No one ever came to her hometown unless it was on accident, and having so many different people from different states and countries of various nationalities was interesting, especially to her small-town soul.

She studied the few people milling about, looking for the next great photo she could take. There was an older lady showing a little girl – she couldn't have been more than four years old – a name on the wall. The little girl was peering at it intently, and Anna put the view finder to her eye and snapped a photo unobtrusively, briefly wondering what the name meant to the woman. A husband? A brother? A friend?

She lowered it, studying the others close by. There was a man missing a leg, his crutches looking like they'd seen better days, studying the names on the wall on the opposite end and a small group of Oriental tourists huddled together, probably discussing which memorial to visit next.

There was also a well-dressed man, his elbows on his knees, hands hanging loosely in between them, staring at an imaginary spot on the ground in front of him.

Perfect.

But, Anna lowered her camera slowly after the first shot.

He couldn't have been more than 20 yards from her, blossoms from the cherry tree above dotting the long black coat he always wore. As she watched, he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily, never once looking in her direction.

It was her big tipper. Skinner. W.S. Skinner.

Anna was never one to be friendly to strangers, probably why she didn't take to the waitressing job like she should have. She enjoyed her isolation in this bustling city and observed that same respect of privacy in dealing with others. One had to if they expected to live in a small town for very long and stay sane, something she learned at an early age.

It was a hard habit to break in this new environment.

But, for some reason, part of her wanted to reach out, to soothe a fellow troubled spirit.

But, just what in the world could she say? 'Hi, I just took your picture, and you look sad.'

Anna snorted at her own thoughts. Gathering her camera, she turned to head in the other direction, determined to mind her own business. Probably keep her from looking like a fool, anyway.

But, Nero had other plans.

With a happy 'woof,' he rocketed towards the older lady and little girl, tail wagging excitedly.

"Nero! _No_!" She flew after her dog, trying to juggle her camera and get her hands on the leash wrapped around her arm.

But, Nero wasn't paying any attention. His hind end wiggling just as much as his tail, he would have tackled the little girl and licked her face if Anna hadn't grabbed his collar at the last minute.

The older lady looked alarmed and tried to snatch her granddaughter out of the way. But, the little girl looked just as delighted.

"Doggie?" She looked up at her grandmother. Deciding for herself, she clapped her hands. "Doggie!"

"Uh – yes, hon, doggie. _Big_ doggie. Now, let's go find Grandpa." But the little girl wasn't to be deterred.

"I'm so sorry! He loves children," Anna was still trying to unwind the leash from her arm with her hand holding the camera while holding onto the dog with her other.

Nero sat on her foot, tail thumping, looking questioningly up at her, seeming to ask if he could play.

The little girl reached out and hesitantly patted him on the side. "Good doggie."

Nero was in heaven. With one slurp, he licked the girl's sticky face, making her giggle.

The grandmother had enough. She took her granddaughter's hand firmly in her own. "Grandpa's waiting." With one dirty look at Anna, they walked away, the little girl glancing behind her at the 'doggie.'

With her hand still wrapped in his collar, Anna was still juggling the leash, the camera and the animal. "_Bad_ dog! You don't want me to spend the night in jail, do you?"

All Nero did was thump his tail, blissfully happy with his taste of sticky child face as ever.

"Let me help you."

Still leaned over the dog holding onto his collar, Anna looked up, squinting into the sun.

Just peachy. Her big tipper had seen it all.

Anna tried not to look flustered. "He loves children, and I can get him to behave most of the time, but sometimes, he has a mind of his own." She handed him the camera as she rambled on, finally getting the leash unwound from her forearm, snapping it into place on Nero's collar.

He didn't seem to notice her embarrassment, intent on studying her camera. "This is an antique."

Anna straightened up, brushing the dog hair from her shirt. She wished for a brush, sure her straight brown hair was flying all over the place.

But, what did it matter?

Didn't make her feel much better. Plus, he seemed interested in her camera, of all things. "It was my father's. It's been in storage for awhile, but with a few minor repairs, it makes amazing photos."

He handed it back to her. "Interesting hobby."

She shrugged. "Sometimes, some of the local magazines publish some I submit. Mostly, it's just for fun." And for therapy.

Anna had never realized how tall he was. She was by no means considered short, but her 5'7" felt tiny compared to his height and broad stance as they stood in awkward silence.

She seemed to be good at that. Spontaneous conversation was never her strong suit.

"You're not going to give me a ticket? Are you?" she blurted it out.

He looked slightly amused. "Ticket you? For what?"

She shook the leash, causing Nero to turn his head and look at her, then resume drooling on her foot. "Leash law."

He gave her a half smile. "I think there are probably bigger problems to worry about right now." Much, much bigger problems. His smile faded, which didn't go unnoticed by Anna. "Plus, that's a little out of my jurisdiction."

"I thought you were with the police." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

The running joke was anyone could spot anyone with the Bureau a mile away. Apparently, the joke was right. "What makes you think that?"

"The gun, the coat, the badge . . ." she almost said 'the muscles' but stopped herself just in time.

He paused a moment, almost as if it was a fact he didn't always like to divulge. "I'm with the FBI."

"Oh." She paused for a moment. "I guess you really are concerned about bigger problems, then, aren't you?"

"Seems like if leash laws were my biggest worry, life would be so much simpler."

* * *

He startled himself by admitting it.

Hell, maybe he _did_ need someone to talk to.

Then, she did something that shook him to his core.

Absently, she reached up and brushed at the shoulders of his coat. Cherry blossoms drifted to the sidewalk at his feet. "You've wandered a little far away from home base, then, haven't you?" The Hoover building, she knew, was several blocks away.

It was a simple gesture, one that didn't mean a thing. But, it still startled him with its familiarity.

And the fact that it didn't bother him to have her so close, even for just a moment, the fruity smell of her perfume surrounding him. Her face was flushed, probably from the encounter with the dog, and he noticed the spray of freckles across her nose, her skin devoid of any makeup. It made her look even younger than he thought.

He realized she had settled back next to her dog, watching him. He struggled to remember what she had said. "I . . . I guess I needed a break."

"Catching ruthless bad guys must be hard work."

He thought she might be teasing him, but he wasn't quite sure. "It's more like pushing mounds of paperwork across my desk while trying to keep my agents in line."

"That's the government for you. But, I'd say you have your share of facing ruthless bad guys, too." She motioned towards his almost faded bruise on his cheek.

He remembered her friendly gesture at the restaurant that night. "Sometimes your job sneaks up on you."

"Do you come out here often? To get away?"

He looked around, almost as if he had forgotten where he was. "Sometimes."

He wanted to add that he wasn't really getting away. He was reliving it every day. But, he didn't.


	4. Chapter 4

Mulder and Scully show up! Woo hoo!

* * *

Anna hated he looked so ill at ease, but he didn't seem to be making any move to end their encounter. It had been a really long time since she'd tried to strike up a conversation with a complete stranger. Woefully out of practice, that's what she was.

But, she didn't feel like he was a stranger. The same hard look in his eyes she saw in her mirror every morning. She might not even have known his first name, but she was drawn to him just the same. "Were you there?" She motioned towards the wall and its numerous names, divided by year, each a silent testament to the grief and pain left behind.

For a moment, he got a faraway look in his eyes, seeing things, she knew, that only he could see. In response, he just nodded his head.

Anna's curiosity was getting the best of her. "You don't look like you were old enough to be there."

"I was just thinking the other night that you didn't look old enough to be legally serving liquor."

She blushed prettily, tucking another strand of hair behind her ear, and looked away. "That's certainly a complement for a 30-year old."

"Thirty? You're kidding?"

She smiled and nodded. "Guilty. I turned 30 in November."

He rocked back on his heels, hands in his coat pocket. He had guessed early 20s. Except for the haunted look in her eyes. That spoke of a wisdom far behind even his age.

She shrugged, not realizing he had steered the subject away from himself. "It's the Polish genes. My grandmother doesn't look a day over 50, but she's pushing 80." Nero started pulling on his leash, and she took a few steps away, giving him an apologetic look.

Skinner surprised himself by following. Soon, they were strolling around the pond, cherry blossoms blowing around them. "Let me guess. You're last name is . . .," he thought for a moment, trying to think of the most Polish name he could. "Wolonowski?"

Anna laughed aloud, just the sound of it making him smile. "No, it's actually a very American Turner. My grandmother was one of seven daughters. No sons. So, the Polish name ended there. Thankfully."

"Was it bad?"

"It is. Stanikowski."

"Turner is much easier to spell."

She chuckled. "Actually, Turner's my maiden name. My last name's Greensburg."

He glanced at her hand for a ring. There wasn't one.

"He . . . died over a year ago." She was glad he couldn't see her face. It still hurt. She figured it always would.

Skinner sensed more to the story than she was telling, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.

But, at least he understood the look in her eyes.

She changed the subject on him this time. "You spend too much time at _Gordo's_ to be married. Or either your wife is a horrible cook."

"Divorced. Almost two years ago."

"Children?"

"None. She couldn't."

"Did you want any?"

"Sometimes, yes. But, now, I'm not so sure. I've seen . . . too much."

In the back of his mind, he wondered what made him freely speak of these things with her when people who had known him for years were surprised to learn these little tidbits of information.

Probably because of the mere fact that she wanted to know and wouldn't use that information against him in any way. Working your way up with the FBI was often a game of 'stab your co-workers in the back to get ahead' and he learned early to keep his trap shut. He rarely had a chance to meet someone who wasn't with the Bureau with his work schedule such as it was.

"And, you can't protect them from the world. It's hard to accept." There was a tone of sorrow in her voice. He glanced down at her, but her face was blank.

"What about you? Any children?"

"Ah . . . no." Anna took a deep breath, her son's beautiful brown eyes popping into her mind. But, it passed, and she started to breathe again, searching desperately for a way to change the subject. She never talked about Scott. At all. To anyone.

And, she wasn't lying. There were no children in her household. Only in her well-cherished memories.

She blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. "What's your first name?"

"My first name?"

Anna wished she had thought of another question that made her sound less like a fool. "Your . . . um . . . credit card only says 'W.S.'"

Awkwardly, he fished in his inside coat pocket and brought out a card, handing it to her. "Sorry, I guess I should have realized."

Anna studied it. "Assistant Director? Sounds like a paperwork kind of job." She started to hand it back, but he motioned towards her.

"No. Keep it."

She slipped it into the back pocket of her shorts. They were walking across the grassy area towards the Washington Monument, a game of touch football in session with some teenagers, probably playing hooky from school.

Nero wasn't as impressed with teenagers and kept to his normal trot.

Anna figured they probably made a strange picture: the well-dressed FBI agent strolling along with a comfortably, but shabbily, dressed woman with an equally shabby-looking monster dog.

But, he didn't seem to mind. And, if it didn't bother him, it wasn't going to bother her.

"How long have you worked at _Gordo's_?"

"A couple of months now. I take it you've been eating there a whole lot longer than I've been serving there."

"I'd come and go. I get tired of eating in the same place all the time, so I've been known to switch." He shrugged. "The food's good." He didn't want to mention that he only ate there now because of the service. For some reason, that compliment seemed a little too personal. Oh, and the fact that he was shot in the last place he frequented. Too many bad memories, despite the tasty menu.

"Haven't seen you around lately. At least since . . . well . . ." She let the comment drift, not sure how she should word it. Since you got your ass kicked? Since you were beat black and blue?

He knew what she was doing, and he appreciated her tact. "I've been busy. Sometimes, I haven't left the office until long after the restaurant is shut down. Had to settle for bad takeout."

Anna smiled, although as they walked side-by-side, he didn't see it. "Ate enough of that to last a lifetime. How is it that no matter where you are in this country, there's always one bad diner open 24 hours?" Mentally, she wondered about his keeping such long hours. She usually wasn't that concerned about others affairs, especially those of a complete stranger.

"Usually with the same grouchy old woman with the stained apron taking orders." He'd eaten in enough of them to know.

This time, she laughed. He liked the musical sound of it and relaxed even more.

She continued. "I always love the chili cheese fries from those places. Best in the world!"

* * *

He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as they walked.

It had been an extremely long time since he'd strolled in the park with a pretty girl on a gorgeous spring day, talking of nothing in particular, but he enjoyed himself just the same.

And he really was. This did more for his battered psyche than anything else he could have come up with. Even when they weren't saying a thing, just walking along, Nero leading the way, it was a soothing balm to the problems that, until recently, he had been able to handle his own way.

It surprised him to realize that a chance encounter could affect him like this, and he almost told her so.

Until Mulder and Scully came racing around the corner.

"Sir! I'm glad we found you!"

* * *

Nero's ears perked up, and he positioned himself between Anna and this new threat. He didn't growl. He usually didn't have to. His large stature stopped most folks in their tracks.

But, it didn't stop these two. That didn't even seem to give her any second glances.

Anna couldn't help but admire the rugged good looks of the man as he skidded to a stop, running a hand through his windblown hair, his pretty partner not far behind. He started babbling something about phone calls and information. When Anna looked at Walter, she was surprised to note that his whole demeanor had changed. He had gone from a friendly conversation about hole-in-the-wall restaurants to a steely look of determination peppered with annoyance as he tried to make sense of what was being said.

Wondering what she should do, Anna focused on the woman. Her pretty red hair was cut in a flattering style, and Anna was envious of her suit. To have a job that required dressing up daily would be a luxury.

But, it would require more willpower than she had right now.

The woman, who seemed just as caught up in the story her partner was telling, finally noticed Anna's presence as Nero looked back and forth at the new arrivals, probably hoping for a treat.

"Mulder?" She put a hand on his arm, but he resumed his tirade, demanding that Walter 'do something about it.'

When that didn't work, she got a little more forceful. "_Mulder_!"

"_What_?" he turned around, more than a little peeved at the interruption.

She motioned with her head towards Anna, who was beginning to feel like she should take her dog and slink into the bushes, although she had done nothing wrong. That thought along made her square her shoulders.

He focused on Anna, almost as if she had materialized out of thin air. "Oh." He glanced back to Skinner. "Sorry, sir."

Walter sighed, exasperated. Almost reluctantly, he introduced them. "Mulder, this is Anna Greensburg. Anna, this is Agent Fox Mulder and Agent Dana Scully."

Scully gave her a warm smile, although Anna could see her curiosity. Guess their boss didn't hang out much with women in grungy clothes and hairy dogs.

"I'm sorry for my partner's rude interruption." Scully gave Mulder an exasperated look, which he didn't even seem to notice.

Anna figured that was a common occurrence. But, at least the woman seemed friendly enough, although she looked a little pale, even in the bright sunshine. "No, that's fine. I was just . . . uh . . . leaving. Walter just helped me with my dog and . . ."

Mulder blinked once, looking at his assistant director, his brain trying to go from whatever he was talking about that was so important to this new development.

Scully rolled her eyes.

Anna thought if the world had opened up and swallowed her, just have been perfectly happy. Her blasted shyness returned with a vengeance. "I . . . uh . . . better get going. Nice to meet you both." She risked a glance at Walter, not quite sure what she should say.

"I . . .I guess I'll see you at _Gordo's_."

She couldn't help but notice that his steely gaze softened just a bit, and he nodded once.

Before anyone could protest, she and Nero were off.

The trio watched her disappear around the block.

"Mulder, you're about as tactless as a room full of reporters at a government hearing," Scully muttered.

But, Mulder had resumed his tirade at his superior, so the comment went largely unnoticed.


	5. Chapter 5

Anna stared at the photo as it lay in film tank.

Despite the fact the pink blossoms weren't in color, she was glad she'd developed it in black and white.

It was 3 a.m., and she found herself ensconced in her dark room, her dog at her feet. Most experts would say keep the dog out of the darkroom because of hair and dander, but Anna liked his company. And, he was a good dog, never knocking anything over. He just seemed to want to keep an eye on her.

She'd worked her way through the film from the day at the Mall, the familiar movements calming her nerves as the pictures went from images on film to paper.

The ones she took of the reflecting pond and the geese had turned out well, and she sat those aside to see if one of the local magazines needed some good filler photos for their next issue.

She had forgotten she's even snapped the photo of him until it developed right before her eyes.

When it was done, she used the pinchers to remove it from the chemicals, shaking it to remove any excessive and hanging it from the line above.

Putting her chin in her hand, she stared at it.

It was good. Damn good.

It was always so hard to capture just the right mixture of emotion at these monuments to lives lost. She'd come close at the Korean Memorial the first week she was here. A weathered, brow-beaten man reached out and touched one of the life-size soldier statues representing those who'd lost their lives in that particular police action. The look on his face spoke volumes. He was clearly re-living a chapter in his life that he would much rather leave in the past.

She'd tried again, since that day, but couldn't quite get what she wanted.

But here, hanging from her line, was what she'd tried so hard to achieve.

She had purposefully taken the photo off-center, mainly so she the wall of names would dominate. He was to the right, head bowed, hands clasped in front of him as the cherry blossoms danced in the breeze. Although there was not a direct view of his expression, just by the defeated way his shoulders slumped, any viewer could only imagine what was going through his mind.

Anna wondered exactly what _was_ going through his mind. Maybe a humid day in the jungles of Vietnam from so many years ago? Or maybe, it had something to do with his current job, something to do with what his agents were so anxious to tell him?

Anna didn't know. But, she pulled out the negative and got to work.

It might be forward of her, but at 3 a.m., who cared about such things?

* * *

If Skinner had another interruption, he was going to walk out of his office and just keep going. Leave it all behind and not look back. Start life over as something . . . simple. Like a garbage man. Or an accountant. Maybe delivering pizzas.

Removing his glasses, he rubbed his eyes as he went through the daily garbage that was the mail. The day had been so full of interruptions and meetings and such that he was just getting to this chore at 6 in the evening. But, if he left it piled up, it was almost like a living, breathing monster that would fall on him and suffocate him at his desk.

Shaking his head at that particular picture, he returned his glasses to his nose and rifled through the letters and complaints, hoping for something a little different. Although usually, there never was. Same old stuff.

His hand paused at the manila envelope at the bottom. The screeners had already torn it open, since all the mail that came through her was watched carefully for any sort of threat. And, his assistant had already pulled out anything that he did not need to directly deal with in any form.

The return address was from Georgetown, but was not one he recognized. The handwriting was obviously feminine, and curiosity piqued, he slid the contents onto his desk.

When he saw the photo paper, his heart sank. Being the recipient of photographs in the past that were meant as some form of coercion, he felt the familiar vestiges of suspicion, especially after what he'd been doing lately, trying his best to hide it from Mulder and Scully.

But then, why would a blackmailer include his – or her - return address on the envelope?

Taking a deep breath, he turned the photo over. And stared.

It was him alright.

But, it was not the typical 'taken-with-a-zoom-lens' blackmail photo.

He didn't know that antique camera of hers could take such pictures. However, he had a feeling it was her touch that made it special, not the equipment.

Still holding the photo, he found the note that was with it and carefully unfolded it. It was on that flowery stationary all women seemed to own, and for some strange reason, that feminine touch moved him. He leaned back in his chair as he read:

_Walter,_

_Thought you might want a copy. I snapped this one before I realized __it was you. Don't worry. These, I don't sell to publications. __I enjoyed talking with you and hope to get another chance to do so._

_~Anna_

He saw people with cameras all over DC, and figured the photo business makes a lot of money off amateurs.

But, she was no amateur.

Glancing at the clock on his desk, he carefully put the picture back inside the envelope, along with the note, and put it in his briefcase, snapping the clasps shut.

Just like that, he had somewhere he had to be.

* * *

He didn't notice the shadowy figure just inside the parking deck as he climbed inside his car. The figure discretely kept his distance as he followed him out of the garage.

* * *

Anna didn't think she'd get a response. Maybe the next time he was in _Gordo's_, he'd bring it up. It was just a spur-of-the-moment impulse to it to him. And the note. She'd agonized over the note more than she needed to. Then, calling herself a ninny, she'd finally decided on just the facts. Nothing fancy. Nothing chatty.

Just like he was.

It's amazing what an attentive server can pick up over time. And that's all she was. A waitress. A waitress who'd ran into one of her regular customers in a public place and chatted for a bit.

While not usually her forte, she'd found that strolling along in the park with what boiled down to a complete stranger was enjoyable. Despite what she figured was her own self-doubt, she actually even forgot to be shy. At least, until his two agents showed up.

She didn't even know what Walter thought. He turned into all-business at the sight of his agents, and Anna thought it was best to 'get out while the gettin' was good', as her grandmother always said.

Nice to know that the same issues among the employees at _Gordo's_ were apparent in most any working environment, even the FBI.

And, her current 'issue' was Sheila had skipped out early before all the tables were bussed, and Anna was stuck doing the other girl's job.

It made it a little better when she found a five dollar tip that was meant for Sheila. Letting her mean streak show, Anna pocketed the money, figuring she earned it for finishing Sheila's tables.

It was almost time for the restaurant and kitchen to close, and she was glad. She had missed her morning run this morning, and as a result, her leg was cramping. It was all she could do to limp through the rest of the evening, swearing she would not sleep late tomorrow and miss her run again.

"You 'bout done, hon?" Gordo asked, making one of his rare appearances in the restaurant. Gertie said it was because they did such a good job, but Anna figured he was just lazy. Nice, but lazy.

"Yes, sir."

"I see Sheila left early again."

Anna blinked. OK, lazy, but shrewd. He knew more about what went on than she realized. For some reason, though, she wanted to take up for the girl. After all, she did have two children to feed. And Anna did take her tip, so she owed her one. Or five, to be exact. "It's . . . uh . . . no big deal."

Gordo made a face that said it was most certainly a big deal. He thought Anna way too forgiving of others' foibles, which often meant he thought she was taken advantage of. "That laundry's ready for you to take to the facility tomorrow. It's by the service door."

It was her turn to run the napkins and linens by the laundry service. She made a face. "Yes, sir."

"And, when you get done, you've got a visitor."

"A visitor?"

"Yeah, you know, a visitor." Gordo wondered about Anna sometimes. She did her job well with a minimum of fuss, but sometimes, she seemed so timid. He worried about her in the mean streets of DC. While not usually the protective type of his waitresses, he found her Midwestern innocence something that needed to be protected at all costs.

Anna knew she sounded like an idiot. "I'll . . . uh . . . be done in a minute."

"Fine. I'll tell him to wait."

_Him? Who in the world was this?_

Anna must have looked perplexed because he answered, "It's your big tipper." He looked none-to-happy about it.

The picture. She hadn't expected to hear from him so soon. She just mailed it yesterday.

Curiosity was about to get the best of her as she hurried with her chores. Not quite knowing why, she took a moment to glance at her reflection in the refrigerator door. Her cheeks were a little too thin and her forehead a little too high for her liking, but hey, who actually gets to choose ones physical attributes? They'd never bothered her before. After tucking a few stray hairs that had drifted from her mandatory ponytail behind her ear, she made a face at herself and went to meet him.

He was sitting at the far end of the bar, watching whatever the bartender had blaring on the television. Looked like the news.

He looked up when he saw her coming towards him and stood, starting to smile. However, he stopped, looking perplexed.

Anna wondered why, resisting the urge to turn around and look behind her to see if something else had caught his attention.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, concerned, as she got within earshot, obviously quite used to getting to the point.

Anna looked down at her shirt, wondering if some stray ketchup had gotten onto her white shirt. But, then she realized what he was talking about and mentally cursed. She normally tried intently to keep her limp to a minimum, but it was hard on some days, especially when the weather was rainy.

"No. It's just an . . . old injury. It acts up sometimes."

Her voice was so soft, he almost had to lean towards her to hear. Then, he remembered the scars peaking out from her shorts that day at the memorial. He hadn't even realized he'd seen them until now.

"I thought you'd had an accident. Something recent."

She managed to smile at him, her green eyes crinkling at the corners. Although there was something else deep inside them. Sadness, maybe? "No, but this is DC. You know how it goes."

Unfortunately, he did.

The bartender had returned and made sure he busied himself close to where the pair was standing.

Walter eyed him suspiciously, but Anna's face didn't register that she even knew the man was there. Maybe that's what he admired in her. She seemed to take everything at face value. Trust and faith were two traits he didn't see a lot of anymore. However, he'd seen what was left behind when all the layers of deceit were exposed, and it was not a pretty picture. As a result, he thought everyone had an ulterior motive.

Discreetly, he put his hand on her back and led her towards the front door.

"What was that for?" she asked, the warm feel of his hand surprising her, making her breath catch in her throat.

Now, where in the world did that come from?

"Your bartender. He's listening."

Anna glanced over her shoulder, glad for the distraction. Ace, as he liked to be called, was in a furious whispered discussion with Gertie. They both glanced over at them standing in the doorway.

She found her voice just in time. "Oh, that. Unless something you have to tell me is a detrement to national security, then I figure we're safe." She was trying to make light of the situation, but when he didn't seem to be amused, she felt a little foolish.

Little did she know, everything that crossed his path seemed to be a detrement to national security lately, but he didn't want to think about it. Instead, he took a deep breath and looked into her green eyes. "I just wanted to thank you for the picture. It is . . . something else."

Her eyes lit up. "I'm glad you liked it."

"You're really talented."

She looked a little embarrassed and diverted her eyes. "That's sweet of you to say so." _Huh? Sweet? She couldn't come up with a better adjective than that?_

Walter couldn't remember a time anyone ever said he was 'sweet,' but liked the sound of it. It made him feel a little lighthearted, more so than he'd felt in a really long time. "I also wanted to apologize for my agents. Mulder can be a little . . ."

"One-track minded?" Anna finished. At the look on his face, she smiled. "It was a little obvious."

He had to chuckle at that. "Yeah, I guess it probably was." She was observant, no matter how shy she seemed. He approved. Observance can save a life.

"But, don't worry. I . . . wasn't paying any attention to what was said. A habit I picked up from living in a small town, I suppose."

"You're not from around here?" Stupid question, but he had wondered. She didn't act like a street-savvy DC resident. Although, her kind manner and soft-spoken attitude that soothed his spirit the few times they'd interacted had a tendency to pop unbidden into his mind, especially if he was getting blessed out by one of his superiors. Again.

She shook her head, her hair curling about her face. "Nebraska. Lived there all my life. Until recently." Until her life fell to pieces around her at a drunk driver's mistake.

But, she left that part out.

That explained the light dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks. Sunshine and farm living. He liked that. It seemed so . . .so peaceful.

He was a little uncomfortable with that thought, so he changed the subject. "I wanted to bring you something in return, but honestly, I didn't know what." Flowers seemed a little too . . .much, but everything else seemed too personal as well. He didn't want to make this seem like more than it was – a kind gesture. At least, he was pretty sure that's all it was.

Dammit, it had been a long time since he'd had to play this game!

Her smile was genuine, as well as the appreciation in her eyes. "As long as you enjoy it, that's all the thanks I need."

For one, strange moment, as she looked up at him, he wanted to touch her hair as it fell lightly against her neck to see if it felt as silky as it looked.

It had been a long time since he'd felt that way about any woman.

She must have sensed his discomfort and pointed towards the kitchen awkwardly. "I better get going. I have to drop the linens off at the laundry tonight." She shrugged, as if this was an everyday annoyance.

With that, she was gone, disappearing around the bar and into the kitchen.

He noticed she was trying to hide her limp, but failing.

And wondered about that accident she kept skirting around.

Ignoring the suspicious glares from the bartender, he shrugged at his own irrational behavior and headed out the door towards his car.

* * *

If he hadn't been so deep in thought, he might have noticed that his car, which had been parked under a lamp post one block from the restaurant, was now sitting in darkness on the deserted street.

Until his shoes crunched in the remains of the light that had fallen to the sidewalk, he remained unaware of the figure standing in the shadows of the nearby alleyway.

Staring at the glass, he at first thought some creep had broken his window. But, one glance told him they were all intact.

And the instinct he picked up at a young 18 years old in Vietnam made his neck crawl.

He ducked as the first shot rang out, pulling his own pistol with his right hand as he fell behind his car.

Heart racing, he heard footsteps. Saw the shadow move through the windshield of the car parked in front of his. Kneeling on the ground, he fired at it, and glass shattered. The shadow ducked. He didn't think he'd hit whoever it was.

Mistake number one.

Was this random? Or not?

His first vote was in the 'Or Not' category.

Senses humming, Skinner started to rise when the pain hit him, almost made him double over with the intensity of it. It seemed to be coming from his side, but it was too dark to see. Putting his hand on his side, he felt something wet.

Son of a _bitch_!

Mistake number two. He let down his guard long enough for the guy to take advantage of it. His attacker lunged towards him before he could take aim, and they both rolled across the sidewalk, his gun skittering just out of reach.

Despite being injured, Skinner was pissed off enough to fight back. He rose to his feet and managed to sucker punch the guy. He was rewarded with was an 'oomph' as he knocked the air out of him.

However, Skinner realized he'd lost his gun somewhere in the scuffle, so when the guy raised up and shoved him again, he fell against the side of his car, his aching side screaming with pain, almost knocking the breath out of him. Without a way to fight back.

He heard the click of the hammer and knew he was in big trouble.

Refusing to be shot in the back, he turned around to face his attacker, more than a little afraid it would be someone he knew.

Thankfully, it wasn't.

For some reason, staring down the barrel of a .45, you took your blessings were you could get them.


	6. Chapter 6

Allen always said she had that problem. Speaking what was on her mind. It bothered her that he acted like it was a disease to be cured.

Anna paused, surprised at her thoughts. She loved her late husband – had ever since they dated in high school. But, he had always teased her, telling her that people would take advantage of her sweet disposition. She couldn't trust everyone that came her way.

Boy, did she know that! Even Allen's own cousin had been bugging her for the settlement money. He hadn't showed up since she'd moved to DC, so maybe she'd eluded him so far.

For the first time, she realized how much it irked her when Allen made those comments, almost as if it were some kind of character flaw. She wasn't gullible. She couldn't help it if she expected the best out of everyone. Sometimes, that's all they needed. Someone to believe in them.

Remembering that she was volunteering the next day at the Boys and Girls Club, she added that to her to-do list as she crammed the laundry in her trunk, the huge bags almost weighing more than she did. She had parked her car in the alleyway when she arrived at work, anticipating carrying the stupid things.

The gun shot made her stop in mid-shove.

Whirling around as the echo died away, she reached blindly in the trunk behind her, fumbling underneath the laundry until she came up with the tire iron. Her only paltry weapon.

Great. Just great.

Someone could be trying to rob Gordo. It wasn't uncommon, but it hadn't happened since she'd been there. Just the thought of it made her want to lock herself in her car and hide in the floorboards. Or drive straight home. To Nebraska.

The second shot made her hit the ground as she heard glass shattering from the street.

No one flew out the service entrance to the restaurant, and she sure as hell wasn't going to go barging in there if a robbery was in progress.

She didn't here yelling or screaming or anything.

Strange.

Taking a deep breath to steady her trembling hands, she crept towards the end of the alley and the quiet street, not really quite sure what she was doing, the jack in her trembling hands. Bravery was not her strong point. She'd grown up in a world where the men were the brave ones and the women stayed out of the way, never bothering their pretty little heads when there was always a man around to keep them safe.

She'd never much thought about it before, but she didn't know why it didn't annoy her then. It annoyed her now.

And, she sure as hell wouldn't be shaking like a leaf if someone had _told_ her what to do in this kind of situation!

But, she couldn't let her friends get hurt. Lord knows, she didn't have many of them. Plus, Gordo or Gertie, and maybe even Ace, nose rings and all, would do the same for her.

She stopped at the end of the alley, straining to hear, her back against the warm brick veneer. But, there was nothing. No screams, no shouting. Just nothing.

Feeling a little silly as her adrenaline slowed, she wondered if she'd imagined the entire thing. Surely, whoever fired those shots was long gone by now. Plus, the tire jack was heavy in her arms, and she hoped no one saw her acting so insane.

But, she had to be sure. Just in case.

She peeked hesitantly around the corner.

What she saw made her breath catch in her throat.

Some burly guy dressed all in black had Walter Skinner backed against his car. Unarmed. As she watched, horrified, she saw Walter wince in pain as he turned around to face his attacker.

Anna didn't take time to assess her options. She could have screamed to deflect attention. She could have ran back in the restaurant and got help or called someone from her cell phone in her car. But, it didn't look like there was enough time for that. Running on blind intuition, she crept from the relative safety of the alley, the jack griped in her sweaty hands.

Through the blood whooshing in her head, she ignored the voice inside telling her to run for her life. Instead, she crept closer. Neither one noticed her, so intent were they on the situation unfolding. She tried her best to stay in the shadows, which was easy to do with the street light out.

About the time the man's finger tightened on the trigger, she figured she had run out of time. Raising the jack over her shoulder like her softball bat safely ensconced in her bedroom at home, for one fleeting second, she wondered if the impact of the jack would even stop him from pulling the trigger.

Too late now. She was committed.

The jack flew through the air, almost as if it were in slow motion, as she watched, eyes wide.

* * *

Skinner tried to take a deep breath and found he couldn't. The pain was worse now, and he could barely stand, instead choosing to put all of his weight against the car.

Soon, it wouldn't even matter. The bastards had won.

He knew they would all along.

He slid to the ground, his back against the car, waiting.

When the object – was that a car jack? – slammed into the gunman's head, Skinner was so startled, he would have jumped back to his feet if he could get his body to respond.

The gunman slumped to the ground, gun at his feet.

Skinner focused on the piece of metal. It _was_ a car jack!

He looked towards the restaurant.

It was Anna, God bless her. Standing there with her hands over her mouth, almost as if she couldn't believe what she had done.

She was efficient _and_ deadly. Whoever would have guessed?

* * *

For a few seconds, Anna didn't know what to do. She'd never attacked anyone with a weapon, let alone a jack, and stood rooted to the spot as what she had done sank in. Her eyes traveled from the prone figure on the sidewalk, to Walter and back.

_What do I do now?_

Although it was dark, her eyes traveled to the shiny stain on Walter's white shirt. That alone spurred her into action.

Reaching behind her to untie her apron, she snatched it off, kneeling beside him, trying her best to ignore the prone figure at his feet.

"You're hurt," she whispered, voice shaky.

She hated that. She should be braver than that.

It didn't escape her that Agent Scully would have been braver than that.

But, Scully was a damned FBI agent!

All she was and would ever be was a timid girl from a Midwestern town, flung into a life she needed to live to get away from her past.

She pressed the apron to his side, hoping to staunch the flow of blood just a bit. He winced when she did.

"Sorry," she muttered.

And she knew about a lot of blood. Lord, did she.

It hit her, and her vision swam. For one moment, she almost swooned, the screeching of tires and crunch of metal rising from her subconscious.

* * *

She was going to pass out. Skinner could see it coming. Bless her heart, she fought it, but she was not going to win.

The gunman was moving. Despite the blood pouring from his head wound, he was coming to ever so slowly.

"Anna. Listen to me. Look at me."

* * *

Anna had been staring in horror at the blood on his shirt, now on her hands, seeing a time and place in her mind that was far away from a deserted street in the nation's capital.

_Allen. Blood pooling out of his mouth, his nose. Scott, blood filling his car seat. Her own blood leaking out of her wounds, killing her slowly. Killing them all slowly . . ._

She thought she heard someone calling her name . . .

"Anna. Look at me."

She tore her gaze away from the blood-soaked apron she was pressing against his side, looking so terrified, Skinner wished she never had gotten involved. She should be sheltered from scenes such as these, not asked to participate.

But, he hadn't asked. And if she had not done anything, he'd be dead.

So this was as good as it got.

When he was sure he had her attention, he spoke slowly and evenly.

"Anna. Do you hear me?"

She nodded once, hesitantly. The ashen look on her face subsided a bit.

"I want you to reach over on my other side and get my handcuffs out of my coat pocket. On the inside."

Anna started to push back his jacket and do as she was told, but stopped.

"My . . . my hands. I'll get blood . . ."

"Don't worry about it," he said through clenched teeth, the pain shooting through his side as she released pressure. He hoped the sirens he was hearing were in the distance and not in his head.

Taking a deep breath, she found the handcuffs.

"Now, I want you to put them on him." He motioned with his head.

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, he thought she would balk.

But, as he watched, he almost saw her controlling her fear, grabbing it by the throat. Swallowing hard, she crawled towards the man, noting with horror that he was starting to move about.

Skinner shifted uncomfortably on the concrete. Something was pushing into his back, and it hurt like hell. "Put both of his hands behind him. That's right. Now . . ."

"I know how handcuffs work." Anna snapped them shut with a minimum of fuss just as the guy came to. She jumped back as he thrashed about.

Skinner was glad to hear annoyance in her voice. That was good. She'd be just fine.

"Now, reach over there and get his gun. Put it over here."

That's right. The gun. Although he was handcuffed, Anna could just see the scumbag getting ahold of it again and killing them anyway.

Not if she had something to say about it. Not after all the trouble she'd gone through.

She reached for the gun, then stopped short. "What about fingerprints?"

It was a valid question. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought if it. If someone else besides his attacker had handled the weapon, they could be in luck.

Although he doubted it. He was pretty sure he knew how this guy worked for, and they were usually swifter than that. Plus, the man's dark gloves attested to his intent of not leaving any trace behind.

He was also pretty sure sweat was beading on his forehead at this point, and he ground his teeth against the pain. "Look in my car. In the back. Evidence bags."

Anna spotted his keys nearby and rose to her feet shakily. Finding the right one with trembling fingers, she rummaged in the relatively clean backseat, glad to have a diversion. It wasn't long before she found what she was looking for.

Noting that the bags were already turned inside out, she used the bag to pick up the gun. Wrapping it around it, she was careful not to smudge anything as she gingerly laid it on the hood of the car.

"What about yours?"

Skinner was concentrating very hard on not being sick. "My what?"

"Your gun." She pointed to his side and his empty holster.

That's right. He'd lost it when the guy tackled him. At least, that's what his foggy brain was telling him. "I don't know . . ." He shifted against whatever was jabbing him in the back.

He must have made some sort of noise because Anna was immediately by his side.

"Shhh. It's alright. You'll be just fine. An ambulance's on the way. You're alright," she kept saying over and over. At least, she hoped that's what those sirens were. Any help was greatly appreciated at this point.

The apron was about soaked through, and she refused to look at it as she pressed it against his side, willing him not to die.

She was strong. She could do this.

His face was wan as he leaned his head back against the cool steel of the car, shutting his eyes, breathing. In and out. In and out. She leaned in close, talking to him, saying he would be just fine.

Without realizing what he was doing, he groped for her hand, griping it tightly in his own.

The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was the light scent of her perfume and how it seemed so out of place in this part of his life he found himself in.

* * *

The ambulances, police and Gordo with his hockey stick all arrived at the same time, Gertie trailing close behind.

When he saw a pale Anna sitting on the ground and the blood-soaked apron balled at Skinner's side, he cussed a blue streak.

"I _told_ you he was bad news! Didn't I?" He looked at Gertie for confirmation, but all she did was take a drag on her cigarette. "I did! I _know_ I did! Now look at that!" The rest of his profanity-laced argument was drowned out by the sirens.

Anna gratefully backed out of the way as the paramedics and their equipment ran towards them. A searing pain in her leg from her cramped position on the ground kept her from getting to her feet, but Gertie was there to help her.

Gordo was still cussing nearby, almost appearing as if he would break his hockey stick in half.

"Wh-what took you so long?" Anna asked, making sure her shaky legs would hold her before Gertie let her go.

Gertie tossed her cigarette to the ground, grinding it with her foot. "Sug, it hasn't even been two minutes since the first shots were fired. Gordo called the law and locked the restaurant. By the time we barricaded the door, he was out the service entrance with that damned hockey stick. He saw your car. Figured you were out here somewhere." She wished for another cigarette, but they were in her purse locked in the restaurant with that crazy bartender with the metal up his nose.

Anna was in a daze. She would have sworn ages and ages had gone by. Not two measly minutes.

"Ma'am? Do you know what happened? Who is the guy in the cuffs? Ma'am?" The police wanted answers, and they wanted them now.

Anna wanted to give them. She wanted to explain. Her mouth wouldn't work when she opened it. Dumbly, she glanced down at her blood-stained hands, their questions and Gertie's concerns floating around her.

_Blood . . . Allen . . . Scott . . ._

"One of you bastards better catch her . . ."

Gordo's threat was the last thing she heard before she blacked out.


	7. Chapter 7

Enter Jeffrey Spender (sort of). Yeah, I know, I'm jumping ahead a little from X and the elevator fight in Season 2 to Spender, but remember . . . that's what makes fanfiction fun!

* * *

Anna didn't remember her bed being this uncomfortable. And where was Nero? She groaned and squirmed, trying to find a more comfortable position.

"Hey! She's waking up! Anna! Anna, you alright? Anna?"

Her eyes fluttered open as someone shook her shoulder none too softly, and the flashing red and blue lights had her confused for a moment.

For just one terrifying moment, she thought she was still trapped in that car at the bottom of the ravine, the emergency vehicles lights flashing around her as they worked to free the three of them.

"Should we slap her? You know? Just a little bit?"

"No, you idiot! You don't slap women! She'll wake up. Won't you, Anna? C'mon, girl, wake the hell up!"

_. . . no . . . not Nebraska. DC_.

Ace and Gordo's argument brought her back to reality.

But, with the retreating panic came the sense of loss, the same emotion she felt as, her body twisted at an impossible angle, she watched the life drain from her husband's eyes.

She squeezed her eyes shut to control the tears.

_Don't you do it, Anna. You haven't done this in months. You WILL NOT do it here! You're stronger than that, remember?_

Her eyes fluttered open, and she stared at Gertie, her wrinkled face almost inches from her own.

"Good. You're awake." Gertie pulled her into a sitting position. "That was a really good way to get rid of those cops."

"I . . . uh . . . I . . ." Anna looked down at her hands. Someone had cleaned them.

Good. She could avoid looking at the smears of blood on her shirt just long enough to take these clothes home and burn them.

Home. That's were she wanted to be. Underneath the covers, her dog at the foot of the bed. No blood. No gun shots. Just quiet. Peace and quiet.

But, first things first.

"Is he alright? What happened to him?" She glanced around, but Walter was gone.

Gertie didn't like her concern one bit. "They took him off on the ambulance, sug. But, he looked like he would be OK."

"He looked like . . . like he . . ." The sobs threatened to return, and she had to stop talking to control them.

Gertie patted her cheek, and uncharacteristically friendly gesture for the gruff woman. "He'll live. Now, get it together. You still gotta talk to the feds."

She didn't want to talk to any cops. Not tonight.

But, they had other ideas.

Wrapped in a blanket someone had brought to her, she sat in the open backseat of a cop car and made her statement.

Ace disappeared, muttering something about outstanding warrants.

When she thought it was over, she had to make another statement to another officer. Then, somebody from the FBI showed up, and she had to tell her story all over again.

By the time Gordo drove her home in her own car, it was almost 3 a.m. Flinging dirty clothes halfway to her bedroom, she took such a long shower, her water heater ran out of hot water.

Slipping into an old T-shirt of Allen's, she fell into bed, wet hair and all.

* * *

Thrashing about, she sat straight up, breathing unsteadily.

A dream. Nothing but a dream.

This one was bad, almost like the ones she had at the beginning. Her baby crying for her . . . the blood pooling from Allen's mouth . . . the aloneness . . .

The doorbell?

She hadn't been asleep long. The light shining through the crack in the curtains showed that the sun was just barely up.

And now she was hearing her doorbell in her dreams.

But, it wasn't in her dreams. There it went again.

Fighting out from underneath the blankets, she tossed on a pair of jeans and pulled her still-damp hair into a half-assed pony-tail.

Nero was already at the door, on alert. She peered out the window and her eyes widened

She unlocked the door with trembling fingers and opened it.

Nero, sensing her panic, positioned himself between her and the two FBI agents, growling a little deep in his throat.

"He's dead, isn't he?" Anna blurted it out, not believing it. After all she went through. For _nothing_! They told her he would be OK! They all told her that . . .

"What? No, no not at all." Mulder eyed Nero suspiciously. The dog eyed him just as suspiciously back. "Skinner'll be just fine."

Anna was so certain he was dead that the agent's words almost didn't register with her.

"Really?" she swallowed hard. Fighting tears. She didn't know why, but she was.

Yes, she did. He didn't deserve to die like that. No one did.

"He's actually going home later today. They kept him overnight for observation, just as a precaution. But, there was no major damage." Scully answered, also eyeing the dog, who seemed to be in some sort of staring contest with her partner. "Can we come in?"

"Oh. Uh . . . sure." Anna stepped back, opening the door wider, remembering her manners. "Nero. Sit! Stay."

Nero sat, but stared at the pair as they walked inside.

Scully admired the wooden floors that seemed to go throughout the house, wondering how a waitress could afford to live in such a neighborhood, especially in Georgetown. "This is a nice place."

"Thank you. It's a little . . . cluttered." Anna quickly picked up her clothes she had flung off the night before. She carried them into the kitchen, tossing them in the wastebasket. The blood wouldn't come off.

She knew that from experience.

They followed her inside as she started making coffee. "Would you like anything to drink? Eat? I think I have some bagels around here somewhere." After last night, she was going to need any caffeine she could get. Plus, she needed something to do with her hands. Nervous energy and all that.

"No, that's alright. We just wanted to talk to you. About last night."

"But . . . I made a statement already. Several, actually." She slowly and deliberately poured the water into the coffee pot, adding the correct amount of grounds. "I think I even made one to an FBI agent."

"Who?" Mulder asked, eyes narrowed.

Anna rustled through the trash can, finding her blood-stained pants. Trying her best to ignore those stains, she found the business card in her back pocket. "He told me to call him if I thought of anything else."

Mulder took the card from her, snorted in disgust, then showed it to Scully. "Spender. I should have known."

Anna looked back and forth between the two agents. She was always good at reading moods, and this time was no different. "Did I do something wrong? Should I not have . . ."

"No, no. Don't worry about it." Mulder tossed the card on the kitchen table. He and Scully exchanged a look.

Anna wasn't convinced. The thought that she might have put Walter's life in more danger frightened her, not the reaction she was expecting. "I thought all of you were on the same team."

"On a good day, maybe." Mulder muttered.

Scully ignored him. "Do you mind telling us what happened?"

Anna liked that she asked, although she knew she really didn't have a choice.

"Heard you took car jacking to a whole new level," Mulder added.

Anna managed a small smile at that one. She perched on the edge of a chair in her sunny kitchen, and told her story, her smile quickly fading, as she stared at her clasped hands. Making herself relax, she tried to not dig her nails into her own palms. Nero padded to her chair and leaned against her as she told about hearing the shots, then finding the two men.

"You really threw it?" Mulder asked, a little incredulous. "I thought they were kidding."

"I was a pitcher on my softball team in college. Didn't know I still had the ability, honestly." She reached out and patted Nero's head, rewarded with a soft thump-thump of his tail.

"You have one helluva aim." Mulder agreed, leaning back in his chair. "But, did you hear anything else? Did the gunman say anything?"

Anna shook her head, her hastily-arranged ponytail coming loose from its rubber band.

"What about the evidence bag? And the handcuffs?" At Anna's confused look, he added. "I didn't think Skinner was in any shape."

Anna looked at her nails again. "That was me. Walter walked me through it."

She missed the exchanged glance between the two.

"Did you recognize the gunman?"

"No. Not at all."

"He wasn't someone you've seen before?"

Anna shrugged, reaching down to pet Nero's soft fur. "He could've been in there before, but so many people come in and out. It's hard to keep up. But, he definitely wasn't in there last night. It was a slow night. I'd have remembered."

It was quiet for a moment, the only sound the clock ticking on the wall.

Scully shifted in her chair. "If you don't mind me asking, what's your relationship with Assistant Director Skinner?"

Anna looked her square in the eye, for some reason expecting that question. "I'm just a waitress. At a restaurant he frequents."

Despite the fact she found herself thinking about him when she should not . . .

"I don't know too many of my waitresses who would risk their lives for me by flinging car parts at unknown assailants," Mulder quipped.

Scully made a face that said she probably knew a few that would.

Anna felt as if she owed them a better explanation. "I couldn't let that man kill him while I watched. It would have been . . . I don't think I could have lived with it. I don't even know Wa . . . I mean Mr. Skinner, that well . . ." Her voice faded as she wondered why she really did what she did. "It's not even like me to be so . . . violent. But, I guess when you see good versus evil, you always have to side with the good." She looked up at them. "You know what I mean?"

They looked at each other, but didn't say a word. They seemed to do that well, not speak, but know exactly what the other was thinking.

Anna was envious.

Mulder rose. "Thank you for your time, Mrs. Greensburg. Sorry for the early hour."

Anna rose. "I wasn't sleeping much anyway. I think it was all the blood . . ." She fought nausea for a moment, then smiled apologetically. "I'm not good with blood."

"Neither am I. Especially when it's mine," Mulder teased.

Both agents handed her a card. "Just call us if you think of anything else."

"What about the other agent? Spender?"

Mulder thought for a moment. "Let's just say there's good guys, and then there's good guys. Have a good morning."

Scully shrugged, and then they were gone.

Anna padded back to the kitchen and her coffee. She laid the cards next to the FBI agent's from last night. Complete with Walter's, she had a nice little collection.

Strange thing to collect, that's for sure.


	8. Chapter 8

I've had a few people message me and ask where the title came from. Proverbs 3:17 KJV - "Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace."

* * *

Anna knew she probably should have taken a nap, but she was afraid. Of her dreams. And of what she'd see. It was easy to ignore it in the daylight, but when she was asleep, her mind had other ideas.

So, she went on about her day as if nothing had happened. Her morning run, which she absolutely could not skip today. Laundry. Coffee with her elderly neighbor across the street, where she did not mention the night's events. Playing softball with the kids at the Boys and Girls Club. She kept her mind occupied and her hands busy. It was always the best way to deal with her demons. She knew that from experience.

Before she knew it, it was time to go back to work.

Anna felt the apprehension growing in her stomach the closer she got to _Gordo's_. She parked in the employee's parking, glad to find a spot. Sometimes, people parked there that shouldn't, but Gordo got a kick out of getting them towed. Today, only employee's cars were there.

Nervously, she glanced down the street. Walter's car was gone. There was no sign of what happened the night before.

With a sigh, she walked skittered around the building and into the service entrance, glad when the heavy door shut behind her.

It was Friday, so Ace was clearly not going to be at work. Another of his gigs.

Anna was relieved. Bartending on a weekend night was always hectic, and it kept her mind occupied as she mixed drinks and fended off marriage proposals.

She had to tell her story again and again to the other waitresses, and she even got an appreciative nod from Sheila, surprisingly enough, who murmured that she was pretty brave.

Brave? Maybe stupid, but not brave.

Anna wondered if Walter would be there, then dismissed those thoughts. He was probably at home recuperating. She had wondered how he was, but she had no way of reaching him at home. Even if she could have contacted him, she didn't think she was _that_ brave. She wasn't looking for accolades or high praise. She just wanted to make sure he was OK. To hear his voice for herself.

The crowd winded down towards midnight, most of the rowdier bunch going to stake out the clubs for a wilder party. And, her sleepless night was beginning to take its toll.

She was wiping down the bar when a familiar voice said, "What's good to drink around here?"

Anna glanced up, startled. Remembering to smile, she said, "Oh, hi, Agent Scully."

"Dana. Please. I'm off the clock."

She looked relieved. It would have been awkward calling her Scully or Agent Scully. "So, what do you like?"

Scully thought for a moment. "Nothing too strong. Maybe a glass of wine?"

"White or red?"

"White."

Anna picked out what she knew to be a good vintage and poured a glass, setting it in front of Scully with a napkin. The agent took a sip and nodded her appreciation.

Anna continued with her work, wondering just what the federal agent was doing there.

Scully looked around. "Interesting place. Kind of cross between hole-in-the-wall and vintage 70s."

Anna smirked. "Gordo doesn't believe in spending money. Says if the food and booze are good, bad décor won't keep them away."

"It must be fairly good if my assistant director keeps coming back." Scully watched Anna for a reaction.

She just kept wiping down the cabinets, keenly aware of the agent's eyes on her. "Steaks are really good. I'll give Gordo that much credit." She paused. "So, how is he?"

Scully took another sip. "You mean, you don't know?"

Anna's eyes widened, fearing the worst. "Know what?"

Scully shrugged. "I just figured he'd at least contacted you by now."

Anna colored, chiding herself, and started rearranging bottles, putting them back in the order Ace liked them. "I didn't know what I was doing, to tell you the truth. I just reacted."

"I think it was fairly brave of you."

At first, Anna thought she was being mocked, but when she looked at the other woman, she appeared to be serious.

"To tell the truth, I was sitting there the whole time thinking, 'Agent Scully wouldn't be freaking out like I am'."

Scully smiled. "You get used to it. And, freaking out is relative. It happens more than you know."

Anna's exhaustion made her talkative. "If I had time to think about it, I probably would have run screaming in the other direction. Now, I think about all the things that could have gone wrong. He could be dead. Or both of us."

"That's a normal human reaction to a stressful situation. I bet that was probably one of the most stressful things you've ever experienced." Scully waited for an answer, fishing.

Anna froze. "Not . . . quite."

Scully took another sip and didn't respond. She'd done some research on her own on Mrs. Anna Turner Greensburg, a little surprised at what she'd found. She fought the urge to ask her why she had $15 million in a bank account that she rarely touched.

But, in a way, Scully understood. She knew she'd still work if she ever acquired that much money, so it wasn't too far fetched for Anna to still be working, either.

Anna made a few drinks on the other end of the bar before returning to her customer. "You know, I actually passed out after the ambulance got there. It was really embarrassing."

Scully understood her aversion to blood. She'd read the stories about the car accident. And what happened afterwards. "That, too, is normal." Under the circumstances, she thought Anna was holding up very well, but couldn't tell her that. Didn't want her to know she'd been prying.

Anna was wiping down a glass. "So, I guess you're saying I'm just a normal everyday woman reacting normally to an abnormal situation?"

"That's a pretty good way of putting it."

It had been a long time since Anna thought of herself as normal. Too many bad things had happened in such a short time span, and she thought normal was still out of her reach.

She leaned on the bar, finished wiping it down for the evening. "You seem close. I know he's your boss, but it seems . . . different."

Scully rubbed her finger along the rim of her glass. "We've worked together a long time. Been through a lot."

"Does that happen often? Shootings?" It made her stomach queasy just to think about it.

"We've all stared down the barrel of a gun more times than we like to admit. It comes with the territory."

"I . . . didn't realize it was such a dangerous job."

"It's not as glamorous as the TV tries to make it out to be, that's for sure."

Anna thought on that for a minute. FBI shows were never her favorite.

Scully continued. "But, he doesn't let anyone get too close. We didn't even know he was married until he was getting a divorce. And, he has this infuriating way of keeping us in the dark. Hiding things from us. Telling us it's for our own good . . ." She was getting worked up. When she saw Anna watching her intently, she backed off. "I'm sure your boss does the same thing."

"He did come to rescue me last night brandishing a hockey stick. Do you want another glass?"

"Oh, no thanks. One is enough." Scully thought for a moment and laughed. "Hockey sticks and tire jacks. Seems we thought guns were the weapons of choice all along."

"I shouldn't have used the thing. It's sitting in some evidence locker in some police station, and I actually might need it one day to change a flat. I think I'll start keeping my softball bat in the car instead."

"Good idea." Scully stuck out her hand. "It was nice to meet you, Anna."

Anna took it and shook, remembering to match the agent's strong grip. "You, too, Dana."

"I hope you sleep better tonight than you did last night."

Anna's smile faded. "Me, too."

After paying her tab, she made her way to the door.

Anna studied the tip. She didn't know FBI agents were such big spenders.

* * *

Scully knocked on the halfway open door. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Skinner looked up from his paperwork. "Yes, Agent Scully. Please come in. Shut the door behind you."

Curious, Scully did as she was told, perching on the edge of the chair across from his desk. Mulder did not like to be left out, but Skinner's assistant had specifically only asked for Scully.

She settled back into the chair. When Skinner didn't say anything, she struggled to make small talk. It was always difficult with him because he was never a small-talk kind of person. "You're looking well. Hard to believe it was only a few days ago."

"It still hurts like hell, but it'll heal. How about you? The doctors have anything else to say?" He fixed his eyes on her face, searching.

"Uh . . . no. Nothing new." She was going to her doctors once a week now, and it was widely known that her cancer was out of remission. But, she still had faith. It was all she had. "I know you didn't call me out here just to ask me about _my_ health."

He propped his forearms on his desk and leaned forward a bit. It seemed to help the pain if he sat for too long. "I have a . . . strange request to ask of you, Agent Scully."

"Okay . . ." she was a little suspicious of where this was going.

He hated that ghost of suspicion on her face. "I've never gave a second thought to singling out the agents under my authority who are women. Especially if they have more than proven their worth. Which you have done, of course."

"Yes, sir . . ." This was getting stranger and stranger. Scully wondered if the pain medication was getting to his head.

"But, I have called you in here – as a woman – because I need a woman's opinion on something. Something personal."

Scully thought if he asked her about redecorating his office, she'd shoot him again. "What about Kimberly?"

He waved his hand in dismissal towards the closed door and his assistant. "She said to send her flowers. I thought that wasn't . . . quite what I had in mind."

Scully shook her head. "I'm not following you, sir . . ."

He leaned back in his chair, wincing slightly, as he picked up several files on his desk, stacking them neatly. "What I want to ask you is, what in the world do I do for Anna?"

"_Do_ for her, sir?"

"You know, flowers, candy, dinner? I figure I owe her . . . something. Some sort of . . . of . . ." He was a little annoyed she didn't get it. Never good with words, he didn't quite know how to say what needed to be said.

Finally, it dawned on Scully where he was going in a roundabout way. "I don't think you have to _do_ anything for her. She did help you out, but she'd have done the same for anyone in the same situation, I imagine. Anything you . . ._do_ for her at this point might be construed as . . . as an insult." She took a deep breath. "What would you have done if she were a man?"

He knew she was going to say that. "I've thought about that angle as well, Agent Scully. I don't intend to be lectured by one of my agents, either, on sexism."

Scully sighed. "I wasn't trying to do that, sir . . ."

Skinner interrupted her. "She stepped way out of her comfort zone two nights ago. In fact, I thought she was going to panic on me for a moment or two. That sort of . . . courageousness needs to be acknowledged."

"I think she's a little stronger than you think she is." After talking with her at the bar, she liked her. She had a quiet reserve about her that Scully knew was hard to maintain. Plus, she knew just exactly what the woman had overcome after her research.

He gave her a funny look. "I don't doubt that, Agent Scully."

Scully thought for a moment, smoothing out a wrinkle in her skirt. "You eat at _Gordo's_ regularly, right?"

He paused, then nodded once, wondering just how in the world she knew that.

"Then, you know her fairly well, then?"

He thought for a moment. Well, there was the photography. He could get her some supplies. Probably on a waitress salary, it was hard hobby to maintain. Or the dog. He could do something for her dog . . .

"I think I have an idea, sir." Scully interrupted his thoughts. "She did -" Oops, too much information. Didn't want him to know she went to see her. "I mean, there is something that I'm sure she needs now more than anything. . ."

* * *

"You _didn't_?"

Anna nodded her head, picking up one of the twins as she toddled toward her, arms extended. "I did. Line drive. Right towards his ear."

Libby patted the other twin on the back, waiting for the resounding burp. "Oh my _God_! I didn't know you had it in you, girl! I would have just laid down right there and _died_ on the spot!"

Libby was always a little melodramatic, but Anna liked her anyway. She needed a friend, and Libby had come along after she first moved here. Actually, Nero had dragged her down the street when he spotted the twins – two girls – in the yard playing with their mother. It was a fast friendship. For the dog and for his owner.

But, she didn't know if she could have taken it if the twins were boys. Too many memories. . .

"You'd be surprised what you'd do, Libby, given the chance." She sat the baby down, who immediately toddled over to Nero and collapsed on top of him

Being a good dog, he raised his head, thumped his tail, licked the little girl, who giggled appropriately, and laid back down, ready for whatever abuse the child could dish out.

Libby sat the other child on the floor, and she followed her sister to pull on the dog's tail. "Be nice to the doggie," Libby called out. But, she didn't have to worry. Nero wouldn't harm them, despite his size. "Were you scared?"

"Witless."

"But, you did what had to be done. Handcuffed the perp. The bastard." She thought for a moment. "So, how's he? The big-tipper?"

Anna told her friend about his regular visits to the restaurant, but not about the picture. That seemed too personal to share. "He didn't stay in the hospital long. Went home the next day. That's all I know."

"You mean, he hasn't called you? Or _anything_?"

Anna shrugged. "Why should he? We don't have that sort of . . . relationship, I'd guess you'd call it. Plus, he doesn't even have my number."

Libby snorted. "He's FBI. He can get whatever information he wants. _If_ he wanted to."

"Look, it's not like that. I didn't do it for a reward or anything. I couldn't let him lay there and die."

"You saved his life. That should be worth something."

Anna rolled her eyes. Why did everyone keep saying that? "I'll see him when I see him."

Libby's voice softened. "If he knew what you'd been through before, he'd have known how hard this was . . ." Anna had told Libby about her previous experiences back home, but only after knowing her for several months.

"I don't want his pity." Anna shook her head vehemently.

"I _know_ you don't. But, you can't hide from everyone . . ."

Nero's head popped up just as the doorbell rang. But, he was covered in babies, so could not manage to get up without toppling them.

"That's OK, boy, I can get it." Anna struggled to her feet and walked to the door, glad for a diversion. She didn't like where this conversation was going.

It was a deliveryman. With a really big box with a pretty pink bow.

She unbolted the door. "Yes?"

"Are you," he studied his clipboard, "Mrs. Anna Greensburg?"

"Yes?"

He handed her the clipboard. "Sign here."

"Um . . . sure." She signed it and handed it back. He shoved the box at her, which weighed more than she thought it would.

And just stood there, waiting.

"Oh . . . right." Anna sat the bulky box on her hip and fumbled for her purse in the foyer, finding a few crumpled ones, tips from the night before. "Here. Thank you."

He tipped his hat. "Thank you. Have a good day."

Libby was practically dancing around her. "Ooooo! A present! I wonder who it's from?"

It did look rather nice the way it was wrapped with a large pink bow. Anna admired it for a moment.

"Go ahead! Open it! I'm about to _die_ of suspense!" Libby, ever the dramatic one. Even the children had come to see what all the fuss was about, crawling into the foyer.

"Fine, fine! Let me read the card first. Can I at least do that?"

"Oh. Fine! Just _hurry_!"

Anna smiled and shook her head, wondering if her parents had sent her something. They were known to do that out-of-the-blue, just to let her know they missed her.

She most certainly didn't tell them about the incident at the restaurant. They'd worry. Lord knows they'd done enough of that as it was.

But, it wasn't from her parents.

_I heard yours had become part of an evidence collection downtown. Couldn't stand the thought that you might be stranded because of me._

_Walter_

"I'll be damned," Anna muttered, staring at the note a moment.

She read the note again. And, just what was he talking about?

Unless . . .

"Dang it, who _is_ it from?" Libby was almost dancing around, her blonde curls bouncing.

"It's from him."

"I _knew_ it! I knew it! I bet it's flowers! Or candy! Or maybe jewelry!" She squealed with excitement.

Anna started on the bow. "Oh, come on, Libby! Jewelry doesn't come in a box this big."

"I know. Just wishful thinking. Hurry up! Open it!"

"OK, OK! Just chill for a minute."

Anna couldn't help it. Gleefully, she threw the tissue about, much to the delight of the twins, and pulled out her gift, laughing.

_He did!_

Libby made a face. "What in the world is _that_?"

"It's a car jack!" She sat it on the table with a flourish, definitely pleased, so she could admire it appropriately.

Libby was not impressed.


	9. Chapter 9

Stick with me here. It seems to go kinda slow, but it'll pick up the pace! Promise!

* * *

"Waitress! Oh, waitress! Refills, please."

Anna gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to tell these customers if they couldn't bother to learn her name, then they could just take a hike.

But, business was business. Giving them her best fake smile, she carted the tray of dirty dishes to the kitchen, returned with a tray of food for another table and managed to get back to them with their refills in the shortest amount of time she could.

By the looks of them, it wasn't soon enough.

So much for her tip.

Anna sighed when she was sure she was far enough away from them where they couldn't hear. Tonight had been brutal. There was some sort of convention going on, and all the tourists must have received the $5 off coupons Gordo had been distributing on windshields all day long because they were all tromping through here in their khaki shorts, carrying their fanny packs and their appetites.

It was good for business, but bad for her sore leg, that was for sure.

That, and the fact that she was still having a hard time sleeping. Last night was better, just a bit, but not by much. Instead of two hours of sleep, she got four. An improvement, but still not enough.

But, she could do this. It was just the tense situation a few nights before that triggered all these memories she'd tried her best to repress.

By golly, she'd repressed them before, and she could do it again.

* * *

Skinner watched her work for a moment as he stood at the bar, ignoring glares from the kid bartender with all the holes in his head.

It was crowded tonight, and she was clearly busy as she fetched and carried for the unappreciative patrons who barely gave her a second glance as she smiled and promptly did as she was told.

Her limp was barely noticeable, although her leg had to be killing her.

For the umpteenth time, he wondered about the injury that caused it.

This was probably a bad time. He should just go, try again later.

He was exhausted himself, and after grilling his shooter for hours, the police still could not find a motive. Just simply robbery was all they chalked it up to.

Skinner wasn't dumb. He had stepped over some invisible line somewhere along the way.

It wouldn't have been the first time, that's for damn sure.

And if his attacker didn't wind up dead in his cell, he'd be surprised. The hit men they hired to do their dirty work always managed to wind up in the morgue if they got caught.

As she was racing to the bar for refills of the beer on tap, he caught her eye, and she paused for a moment.

He would have sworn her face lit up when she saw him, the ends of her mouth turning up in a sweet smile. And that gave him a warm fuzzy feeling that he tried to shrug off as the pain medication he finally downed before he left the office.

She held up her finger, telling him to wait a minute, then pointed at the bar.

Skinner didn't really want to have the bartender glare at him, but he really did want to get off his feet.

But, it wasn't just the bartender. It was the short, fat fellow who apparently ran the place, too. They both stood there behind the bar, arms crossed, frowning at him.

Reluctantly, the bartender sidled up to him. "Wanna order?"

"No thanks. I'm just waiting for A . . . Mrs. Greensburg."

The kid pursed his lips in disapproval, making his lip ring stick out at an impossible angle and went on with his duties as this Gordo fellow watched, just as disapproving.

What was the _deal_ with these people?

It's not like he wasn't a paying customer. A good-paying customer, at that. He never complained, at least not out loud, but these folks kept treating him like . . .

"Hi," she said softly from behind.

He tried not to grimace as he turned around on the stool.

Unfortunately, he couldn't help but notice the dark circles underneath her eyes, marring her white skin, making her freckles stand out even more. She didn't wear a lot of make-up. But, then again, she didn't need to. But, it made her look all the more fragile.

And just why in the hell was he noticing this?

He cleared his throat. "Sorry to disturb you at work."

She gave him a small smile. "It's just good to see you looking better than the last time I saw you. Big improvement."

He couldn't help but return her smile, feeling himself relax. It was infectious like that, especially after the harsh glares he was getting from the other employees.

"Can I have a moment of your time?"

Anna positioned herself where she could see her tables, propping against the stool next to him. "I'm due a break." She turned around and exchanged a look with Gordo. He nodded his grizzled head, albeit reluctantly.

She kept her eye on her tables. "I've been worried about you." It was not an accusation, just a statement.

Skinner didn't know why, but that touched him. It'd been a long time since anyone had worried about him, at least not for their own selfish reasons. "I . . . uh . . .wanted to contact you." _But, I didn't know what to say? What was my excuse?_

"That's okay," she said softly, "you don't owe me a thing." Her smile broadened. "Especially after the gift."

"You got it?" he asked hesitantly.

"I _love_ it! Practical gifts are sort of my forte, and well . . . that's just about as practical as it gets!" She really did seem pleased.

Skinner thought it was silly when Scully first suggested it, but he made a mental note to tell the agent she was right.

But, wasn't she usually?

"I hope you never actually have to use it. For its original purpose or otherwise."

"I hope to God you're right."

They shared a moment of comfortable silence.

He liked that about her, at least once he got used to it. He didn't have to talk aimlessly or search for anything to fill the void.

She shifted most of her weight off her aching leg. "I take it you're doing much better, then?"

"Except for the fact I feel like I've been run over by a tank."

She knew the feeling, but didn't feel the need to tell him that. "You need to take it easy. I'm sure those . . . sort of wounds require time for recuperation."

There she goes. Worried about him again. He searched her face and realized she wasn't just saying it, either. "It won't be the first time."

She looked startled, her green eyes widening perceptively. "I thought yours was pretty much a desk-job type position."

"Normally. But, lately . . ." He didn't tell her. He _couldn't_ tell her.

But, for some reason, he _wanted_ to tell her.

Making a deal with the devil wasn't something one would shout from the rooftops, either, so he kept his mouth shut.

He got to the point. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Me?" She looked surprised that he would even mention it. "No. Not at all." She smiled as the thought hit her. "Oh, except for maybe don't go getting yourself shot at when I'm around anymore. Kind of rough on the ol' nervous system."

"I'll try my best. But, I can't make any promises," he teased.

"Tell me, did they ever find out what that was all about? I mean, why the guy was after you?" Studying on it later, Anna realized this might not be a random attack after all. They were looking for something. An answer she most certainly didn't have.

He took a deep breath, which was much easier to do nowadays. "The police are saying it was just a random robbery . . ."

"But, he didn't take anything from you."

He studied her closely. She was shrewder than her girl-next-door demeanor suggested, that was for sure. "Maybe he would have after he finished me off."

Anna winced, and he regretted his choice of words. But, she soldiered on. "You don't believe that?"

_Careful . . . _"Not . . . exactly. But around here, stranger things could happen." He'd leave it at that. She could draw her own conclusions.

Although she'd never in a million years guess the real reason behind the attack.

He studied his hands for a moment, wondering what to say next, his mind occupied with the twists and turns his life had taken in the recent months.

"Walter?"

He looked at her.

"Maybe there is something you can do for me?"

She seemed a little unsure of herself, and he almost put his hand over her own draped across the bar to comfort her.

Now, where did that come from?

Instead, he kept his hands to himself.

"Anything." He meant it, too. No matter what it was.

She chewed on her bottom lip, looking pensive. "You might think it's a little . . . . strange."

_Sweetheart, I live and breath strange_. He kept that comment to himself. "Try me."

She took a deep breath. "I'd like to learn to shoot."

In his line of work, he never ran across anyone that was not personally familiar with the inner and outer workings of weaponry, so her request caught him off guard for a moment. "You mean, you've never fired a pistol? Ever?"

She blushed, looking a little ashamed.

He back peddled fast. "That's nothing to be embarrassed about."

Some of the color faded in her cheeks. "My father owned rifles and shotguns for hunting, and I've shot those a couple times. But, A -" she stopped for a moment, "my late husband never wanted one in the house. Said they were dangerous."

Skinner raised an eyebrow at that comment, but kept silent. This husband of hers never lived in a big city, that was for sure. And those sorts of comments were common among people who didn't realize what exactly was out there. Personally, he couldn't sleep if his Sig Sauer wasn't on the nightstand next to him.

She fingered a deep scratch in the bar. "I just thought that maybe – after what happened– that I might need to learn how to use one. Just in case."

"I don't think that will be a problem."

"Really? I don't want to be a nuisance or anything . . ."

"Don't even think it." He pulled another business card out of his coat pocket and scribbled something on the back of it. "Are you working tomorrow?" he asked as he wrote.

She shook her head. "No. Wednesdays are usually my days off."

Of course. He should know that. He learned never to come in _Gordo's_ on Wednesdays. He handed her the card, putting the pen back in his coat pocket. "I'll meet you at 10 a.m. at that address. I'll leave your name with the front gate, so you'll be expected."

Anna studied the address. "I hope this isn't an inconvenience . . ."

He held up his hand in protest. "I promise you, it's my pleasure."

Her attention went to one of her tables. By their body language, she could tell they were ready for their check. "I better go. No rest for the weary."

"See you tomorrow?"

"10 a.m. I'll be there." When one last tentative smile, she was gone.

Skinner watched her for a moment before turning to go. Nodding once at the scowling Gordo and his diminutive assistant, he headed towards the door in a whole lot better mood than he was when he came in.

* * *

Anna tried not to get too excited.

But, the first thing she did the next morning before she left was dig out her list she made at her therapist's suggestion a few months before.

_Things to Do Before I Die_

Her therapist thought she needed a list of things to look forward to, to plan and enjoy, instead of constantly living in the past. It might help her get past the fear and indecision of suddenly being thrust into a life she hadn't expected.

Anna wasn't so sure at first and had a hard time getting the list started. After all, just a few months before, she was a wife and mother, her life planned out ahead of her.

All it took was one bad decision to wipe it all away.

But, once she got into the swing of it, she quickly filled the sheet of paper.

Some of them, like 'see a tiger in Africa' and 'swim in the Dead Sea' were a little far-fetched.

But, she had actually crossed a few off. 'Get a photo published' and 'Move to a big city' were the first ones.

She was pretty sure it was on here, and after scanning it, she found it. 'Learn how to shoot a pistol.'

Not only could she cross it off her 'bucket list' as her brother called it, but it was useful, too.

Attempting the things on this list was something that kept her feeling alive. It showed her she accomplished goals, goals that would have never been made if it wasn't for that fateful night on that lonely road, but goals just the same. And, it did give her something to look forward to.

Although it nagged at her that she seemed to be looking forward to this a little more than the others.

She tucked the list back in her pocket. She liked to have it with her. It gave her confidence, almost as if her dreams flowed right through the paper and into her psyche.

Silly, to be sure, but she could use all the help she could get.

Not sure what exactly was proper attire for a firing range, she decided if it were an FBI firing range, she might want to at least look presentable. Rummaging through her closet, she found a pair of black dress slacks and a light green sweater. The neck was a little low for her taste, but it was one of the few dressier-type garments she owned. It was also a little snug. Her doctor would be pleased. She was finally gaining a little weight, losing the hollow look on her face.

Probably all the hot, buttered garlic bread at _Gordo's_.

She'd actually slept well the night before and the bags under her eyes were not so pronounced. She did opt for a little blush and mascara. But, only for her own benefit. She didn't want to embarrass Walter by looking like a ragamuffin.

Trying to figure out what to do with her hair, she had a brief thought of Dana Scully's stylish cut and sighed. She really needed to do something about her hair.

When was the last time she'd sat in a stylist's chair, anyway?

If she couldn't remember, it was too long.

She brushed it until it shown, tossed on a pair of gold stud earrings and off she went, telling Nero to be a good boy.

Grabbing her camera and a comfortable pair of shoes to change into in case she found something photo-worthy, she rushed to her car.

The address wasn't hard to find. She'd made sure she'd looked it up online, so she would be sure not to get lost.

She gave her name to the guard at the gate, and for one brief moment, she thought it might not be on there.

But, he waved her through.

There weren't many cars in the lot, so she easily found a space, although her older-model Toyota looked out of place among the few Crown Vics, Mercurys and Impalas parked nearby. Screamed government-issue fleet, that was for sure.

For a moment, she wondered if she should wait in the parking lot or go on in. Walter didn't tell her that. If she went in there without him, they might kick her out. But, then, she'd gotten this far, so maybe . . .

She glanced around as she climbed out, deciding if she had to wait, it would be outside in the pleasant spring morning and spotted him standing outside, talking on his cell phone.

Relieved she didn't have to go inside alone, she waved and walked in his direction.


	10. Chapter 10

Skinner had chosen a time when he knew this particular FBI-sanctioned firing range would not be busy. Not that he didn't want to be seen with her. On the contrary, he found her company to be delightful, and honestly, he'd never bought much into what anyone thought. He just didn't feel she would be as comfortable in a busy surrounding as she would if it were quieter.

They got right to work.

After going over a few pointers with her before they entered the firing range, he was glad to see there was only one other person there. She listened aptly to his instructions, and he had no doubt she was drinking it all in as she asked all the right questions.

He made sure they were able to talk to each other despite the safety equipment by obtaining two pair of ear protectors wired with microphones.

He had her practice her stance, making corrections where necessary, all the while trying his best not to notice the way her sweater fit across her chest when she held the gun at her side or the way her slacks fit along her backside.

Trying to tell himself there was nothing wrong with looking – never mind the fact that he was almost old enough to be her father! – he had to keep making himself pay attention to the lesson at hand and not his student.

What made it all the more fascinating was she was an attractive woman, but didn't even seem to realize it, especially the way the green in her sweater brought out the green in her eyes . . .

He almost missed what she was saying, her voice sounding teeny on the radio.

"I'm sorry? What was that?" he tore himself away from his thoughts, hoping he didn't look sheepish.

"You promise not to laugh when I totally miss the target?"

"Wouldn't be the first time that's happened around here."

She smiled in response and took her stance.

* * *

Anna went through the checklist in her mind. _Arms steady, feet slightly apart, head up, sight carefully, don't feather the trigger . . ._

She almost shut her eyes, knowing it was going to kick.

It did recoil, but not as bad as she thought it would be. At least, not as bad as the kick on her Daddy's shotgun that left a bruise on her shoulder for days.

Feeling more confident, she emptied the clip into the target, noting with some satisfaction that she actually hit it most of the time.

"Good. Very good." His voice was just as deep through the little earpiece as it was without it. "But, you're aiming a little low. Want to try again?"

"Definitely!" She felt foolish for her excitement, but this was great! Exhilarating! Made her feel in control!

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him smile at her enthusiasm.

She tried to temper it a bit to keep from looking like a backwoods gal who'd moved to the big city.

He handed her another clip, and she flipped on the safety, ejected the spent one and replaced it, only glancing at him for approval when she was done.

He was standing against the wall, arms crossed. "You remembered the safety."

"Good thing I'm not an agent. I'd hit the bad guy in the knee cap."

She took aim again, trying to remember not to aim low.

* * *

It was a common beginner's error that needed to be corrected.

"Let me show you." He walked behind her, wrapping both of his arms around hers, putting his hands over hers on the pistol's grip. "Aim a little higher, but keep the weapon steady. See the dots on the sight? Line them up until they're in a straight line. You see?"

For a second, he thought she might not answer, but he felt her nod against his chest.

The scent of her perfume danced around him, and for one, brief moment, he breathed deep, reveling in the femininity of it.

Realizing what he was doing, he immediately backed off, muttering an apology.

She didn't even answer, but she was so flushed, he'd afraid he'd made her angry.

He'd taught plenty of agents how to fire a weapon, and none of them had he tried that maneuver on.

It's the pain medication. That's what it is.

He conveniently forgot he hadn't taken any all day.

* * *

One moment, he was standing across the room, and the next, he had those powerful-looking arms she had admired wrapped around her own. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she hoped he couldn't hear it pounding away. Without realizing it, she had leaned back slightly into his chest, feeling the sudden need to be even closer.

Wouldn't you know it? His chest was just as rock-solid as his arms.

He was saying something, and her mind struggled to keep up.

_Oh yeah, firing range. Gun. Targets._

_Silly. Pay attention!_

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Her voice might come out kind of squeaky, and these blamed ear pieces would make it worse.

_You. Are. Crazy. He's way, waaaayy out of your league_.

But, she was still disappointed when he stepped away. Not even looking back at him, knowing he could see her awkwardness plain as day on her face, she re-focused on the target and pulled the trigger, hoping she remembered enough of what she said in her silly brain.

At least she did better this time.

Trying very hard to pay attention to what she was doing, she removed the protective ear coverings – they were now the only ones in the firing range now - pressed the button to bring the target towards her, comparing it to the first one.

"You're a fast learner."

She jumped at the sound of his voice directly behind her again, immediately blushing at her reaction. "Errr . . . thanks." She was quiet for a moment, realizing she sounded like an idiot. "I have a good teacher," she quickly added. "I'm sure you're much, much better than I'd ever be."

He took the targets from her and studied them. "I've been doing this-" he almost tripped and said, 'since before you were born,' but stopped just in time, "a whole lot longer than you have." Although, did it really matter if he said it? It's not like it wasn't the _truth_?

She studied the Sig she had just fired, now setting on a stand nearby. It was a rather mean-looking piece of weaponry, one she couldn't see using on a regular basis. "Do you ever get used to it? You make that gun seem like an extension of your body, but I have to admit – I'm a little scared of it."

"If you stop being scared of it, then that's when you need to worry."

She looked at him. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. A healthy respect is what keeps you safe." _Most of the time, at least_.

Wow. This was the second time in a week she'd been told she was normal. Must be some sort of record. Her old therapist would love to hear that! She pushed the gun towards him. "I want to see just how much you're worth to the FBI."

"More than they realize." He said it without thinking.

She thought that a strange comment, but felt she had to say something to fill the awkward silence. "Isn't that how it always works?"

Anna made sure she covered her ears again and watched him empty the clip into the target, which he ran further away than hers was.

Her mouth dropped in astonishment. All the bullets made a neat little hole where the heart would have been. And, he made it look so effortless, too.

She keyed the mike. "Show off."

He turned around and saw the smile on her face and couldn't help but return it.

It was almost noon before they made their way back into the bright sunshine of the parking lot.

Skinner cleared his throat. "Do you have any idea what kind of pistol you'd like?"

Anna thought for a moment. "I liked that one, but I'll probably have to shoot a few more rounds in different ones before I decide." Isn't that what a prospective gun owner needs to do? It sounded good to her. "But, I'd probably like something a little lighter. You know, in case I need to carry it in my purse. After I get a permit, of course." She had to point that out, at least so he knew she wasn't _that_ naïve. But, she had no clue where she would go to get the permit, but that's what her bucket list was about. Learning new things. Getting out in the world.

"You're more than welcome to come back here whenever you want to do this again. Just let me know, and I'll work you in."

They were already at her car, and Anna started rummaging for her keys. She hadn't thought about it, but he took a big chunk out of his day for her. And, apparently, he was willing to do it again. As much as she enjoyed herself, she wouldn't want to outstay her welcome. "I'd like that."

It was those damn green eyes. They were so expressive, he felt sure he could see everything she was thinking. And, best of all, he knew she wasn't lying to him. He'd had enough of that to last a lifetime. She really would like to spend time with him.

Honestly, as she unlocked her door, he didn't want her to go. Her calming presence soothed his battered soul, rather he liked it or not. "What are your plans for the rest of the day?" He blurted it out before he could change his mind.

She opened her door and leaned against it. "Not much. I thought about going out to Mount Vernon and taking some pictures of the azaleas. I've heard the view of the river is spectacular."

Skinner didn't know too many people who actually lived in DC who took advantage of the history it had to offer. He hadn't been to Mount Vernon in years. "You look. . . dressed up, I thought you may have had a meeting."

She blushed prettily. "I . . . ah . . . wasn't sure what to wear. But, I didn't want you to be embarrassed to be seen with me. And, since your agents ran into us at the Mall, and I was dressed a little too . . . comfortably, I didn't want that to happen again."

"That thought never even crossed my mind." A little part of him liked the idea she had dressed up for his benefit, anyway. "But, you might want some more comfortable shoes if you're going to Mount Vernon."

She pointed to the backseat. "Thought of it."

He should have realized that. She was very thorough, he could tell. And, she was climbing into her car to leave, too.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, debating. Finally, he just blurted it out. "I was just heading over to get some lunch. Would you like to join me?"

Words he'd uttered every damn day to most of his co-workers without a second thought. But, with Anna, he held his breath until she answered.

He had to admit, he was not accustomed to feeling so unsure of himself. It wasn't exactly a date. It was just lunch. Pure and simple. She had to eat. Plus, she'd saved his life. That was worth a paltry lunch, surely.

But, she might take it the wrong way. Plus, didn't he figure he was almost old enough to be her . . .

Anna knew he had to get back to work. His cell phone was set on vibrate, but it rang the entire few hours they were in the shooting range. Every so often, he'd flip it open, but he never answered it.

She enjoyed his company. And, it had been so long since she'd felt even halfway comfortable with a man that she didn't hesitate to answer.

"As long as it's not _Gordo's_." She looked up at him from the driver's seat of her car, cursing her rusty flirting skills.

_My God! Flirting? He was just being polite! Jeez, Anna, get a grip!_

For just a moment, she thought she saw a hint of relief on his face before he spoke, holding her car door open for her.

"I know just the place. We'll take my car. Parking's a mess this time of day."

* * *

"I have to admit, I've never been to Nebraska."

"It's flat. Pretty, but flat." Anna speared a fry in her ketchup and popped it in her mouth. "You're not missing much."

"Isn't all of your family still out there?" They'd had a rather enjoyable conversation over greasy fries and burgers, and he was hesitant to part ways. Although the messages pilling up on his cell phone told him otherwise.

She ate another fry. "Oh, sure. I have two sisters and one brother. My brother is the baby, and he's only 18, so he's still at home. My two sisters are married with four children between them. We all lived within 20 miles of my parents' farm. At least, until I moved here." She had to leave. It was about to suffocate her, especially after . . .

"I bet your parents had a fit."

Anna swallowed, her memories just as quickly fading. "You have to understand something about my family. My mom's mom was one of seven girls, and our family was mostly female, too. So, there's a lot of emotion, you know, screaming and ranting and gnashing of teeth, when anything happens."

That made an amusing picture. "Even a sale at Macy's?"

"_Especially_ a sale at Macy's." She continued. "My grandmother was the one who stopped all the nonsense. Told my mom I was an adult and could do as I pleased."

"Your grandmother sounds like my kind of woman."

Anna smiled, pointing at him with another fry. "You'd like my grandmother. She's . . .adventurous. I think she was always a little disappointed all her children and grandchildren didn't scale Mt. Everest, too."

Skinner thought about the things he'd seen, especially lately. "Adventure isn't all it's cracked up to be."

Anna could hear the implied meaning. "My grandmother was a WASP in World War II, flying in the South Pacific. She continued flying a crop duster until she was well in her 70s. Adventure is her middle name. We're all kind of boring to her, I think."

"You seem to take after her." It was an observation he was pretty sure was accurate.

Anna almost choked on her drink. "You must not get out much, Walter, to find me adventurous."

He couldn't help but laugh at the look on her face. "Adventurous doesn't have to mean you're scaling the tallest mountain or riding Niagra Falls in a barrel. Think about it. You've lived around your family all your life. It's all you've ever known. And you leave them, not only to go far away, but to go to a place that's not half as friendly as where you're from. No more safety net. You're on your own."

Anna looked deep in thought, her brow furrowed.

He thought she was cute when she was thinking.

"I guess I've never thought about it that way."

"Why did you leave? That's one helluva decision to make."

He'd struck a chord and not a good one, he could tell, probably due to the fact he'd never seen such sadness on anyone's face. Suddenly, he remembered what she said about her husband.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I apologize for asking. I didn't mean to upset you."

Actually, just thinking about it pained Anna, right to her core.

But, what she was feeling now was mainly guilt.

She hadn't thought about Allen or Scott all day. She honestly didn't think that had happened since the accident.

She didn't even want to contemplate the reasons why.

Determined not to let it bring her down, she shook her head. "No. That's alright. It's just that . . . well, it's hard." She tried to put on a brave face. He didn't need to think she was some delicate flower who couldn't stand to discuss difficult topics.

He nodded his head sympathetically, admiring her willpower, if anything.

She only gave out bare bones information. "It was a car accident. A drunk driver." She took a deep breath, deciding at the lost minute not to tell him about Scott. She didn't want to break down in the middle of this crowded restaurant. "He died on impact."

Skinner didn't know what to say. She was trying so hard to keep it together, her bottom lip trembling just a bit before she clamped her jaw tightly.

He understood. "You had to get away."

Anna realized she was starting to systematically tear her napkin to shreds. Resolutely, she put it in her empty plate, folding her hands in her lap to keep them still. "Family and friends in our close knit community meant well, but it was hard to be reminded of . . . what I had every time I turned around." She gave him a shaky smile. "So, like a coward, I turned tail and ran."

"You're not a coward."

She raised an eyebrow. "How would you know?"

"A coward wouldn't have done what you did for me."

She gave an insecure laugh. "I _wanted_ to run. Or go get someone else." She looked him in the eye. "You did know I passed out after they loaded you on that ambulance?"

He tried for levity. "As long as you didn't pass out before you dispatched the gunman, it didn't bother me one bit."

It worked. Some of the sadness left her expressive face. "And, don't forget. I'm now going to cross another thing off my list and master the simple, yet deadly, pistol."

"Cross it off your list?"

_Oh . . . crap._

She blushed, trying to dismiss her words. "Oh, you know. You see them all the time. 'Ten Things to Do Before I Die.' Something along those lines. My therapist suggested it . . .after Allen died."

Sneaking a look at him, he actually didn't appear to think she was crazy. "A bucket list."

She brightened. "You've heard of it?"

He shrugged. "Sure. What therapist hadn't suggested it?" He settled back in his chair. "I have to admit, learning how to shoot a pistol isn't my idea of a bucket-list kind of goal."

"That's easy for you to say, Mr. 'I-Was-Born-With-A-Gun-in-My-Hand.' But, the way I was raised, girls did girl things and boys did boy things and 'neither the two shall meet', as the saying goes."

"Glad I could help."

"Yeah, too bad 'rescue an FBI agent' wasn't on there, or I could be crossing another one off!" She was glad the conversation was steered away from personal issues, and she wanted to keep it that way. "What about you? Any family close by?"

"Just my mother. She lives near Baltimore. I see her on occasion." _But not as much as I should._ "No siblings."

She propped her chin in her hands. "Must've been a quiet upbringing, that's for sure. I spent my entire childhood fighting with my two sisters."

"I never had to deal with sibling rivalry."

"Count your blessings." She studied the greasy remains of their lunch. "How in the world do you eat like this, yet stay so . . . fit?" It seemed like a safe question.

He shrugged. "I usually run. Almost 10 miles a day."

Her mouth fell open. "10 _miles_? I have to run to keep my leg from stoving up on me, but 10 _miles_? No wonder you can eat like this!"

He thought about her limp, which he hadn't noticed all day. Briefly, he wondered if it had anything to do with the accident the killed her husband.

But, she'd tell him that? Right?

Reluctantly, Anna glanced at her watch. "I don't need to be keeping you."

She was right. He had to get back. And face God knows what. "Let me take you back to the range to your car."

"No – I'll take a cab. You're not far from your office now as it is." In fact, it was two blocks down. He'd even parked in the FBI lot since any other parking was practically non-existent.

He wanted to protest, but she was right. "At least let me pay for the cab."

She shook her head before he could even finish talking. "You've gone way out of your way for me today. I think I can manage to hail a cab."

He didn't like it. For some reason, he had this inherent need to protect her, to shield her. Even DC in the middle of the day could be mean.

However, she'd gotten along just fine without him so far. "It was no trouble. I've had quite an enjoyable morning. More so than if I'd been sitting at my desk, that's for sure." It still didn't sit well with him that he wasn't taking her back. She was his responsibility, at least for today, and he took his responsibilities seriously.

She smiled that sweet smile of hers and stuck out her hand. "Thanks again, Walter. For lunch and the lessons. I'll see you at _Gordo's_."

Her hand was soft, and he held onto it a little bit longer than necessary. "Right. _Gordo's_."

He watched her hail a cab and climb inside. She waved at him as the cab driver took off.

Unconsciously, Skinner memorized the cab's tag number. Just in case.

* * *

When my dad taught me to shoot, he told me if you ever lose respect for the weapon, you're in trouble. Since my dad is a Marine, it seemed a fitting thing for Skinner to say, don't you think?


	11. Chapter 11

References to "Zero-Sum." And, yeah, I might've tweaked the timeline just a wee bit!

* * *

Anna didn't make it to Mr. Vernon. Flicking on the radio, she heard about the accident that had Highway 1 shut down for the duration. Deciding it was too pretty a day to sit in stifling traffic, she headed home. There were chores that needed to be done. And, she might just go for an extra run this afternoon after that cheeseburger.

She smiled to herself and shook her head. _10 miles. _

He was most certainly made of 'tough stuff' as Grandma liked to say. Wasn't it just 4 – no 5 – days ago he was bleeding on the sidewalk? And now he was already back at work like nothing had happened.

Her smile faded. She wished she were that strong. It had been over a year since the accident, and it still haunted her.

What about the guilt? She always thought the pain would be with her always, not only the physical pain of her injured tendons, but the emotional pain. Today, she had her first glimpse of peace. Of enjoyment of a day without any care in the world. Was it because she was learning something new?

Or, was it the company?

Walter Skinner was still an enigma to her. A handsome, well-muscled enigma, no doubt, but still one, nonetheless. She was fairly certain he was only being nice to her for what she did for him, conveniently forgetting they were already on speaking terms before he was shot. Was she ready for more than that? With anybody?

She tried not to think about the moment he wrapped his arms around her to show her how to hold the pistol correctly. That meant nothing to him, and here she was, acting like a silly school girl. She promptly pushed those thoughts away.

Was she ready to let go of her husband's memory? After all, they'd dated since their teenage years. He was the only lover she'd ever known. Was she holding onto a past she needed to let rest?

An afternoon of scrubbing floors and attacking dust bunnies gave her time to think on these questions and more.

But, at the end of the day, she still had no answers. Only more questions.

* * *

When he didn't show up at _Gordo's_ by the end of the week, she tried not to be concerned. She almost called his cell phone number a few times that he had written on the card with the shooting range address, but stopped.

What would she say?

_Oh, I just wanted to say hi. Missed your tips at work. How's the FBI business?_

Foolishness, that's all it was.

Truth be told, she was a little intimidated by him. He had a control over his life, and his job, that she could only dream of. As well as respect of his peers.

The only respect she got was Ace telling her that her work slacks made her ass look cute.

He and Gordo, as well as Gertie, had commented at her "big tipper's" absence. Anna shut them up fast by telling them maybe he just didn't want to get shot again.

She didn't dare tell them about the morning at the range or lunch. They'd read too much into it. Come to think of it, _she_ was probably reading too much into it.

Anna didn't know if she could go back to their waitress-customer relationship.

But, then again, he'd actually have to come by for her to even know, wouldn't he?

* * *

Skinner still couldn't believe he'd done it. He'd broken so many laws, he lost count. He'd disposed of that body. Gotten rid of the evidence at the mail sorting facility. Not to mention the toll it had taken on his emotional state. It was hell. Pure and complete hell.

And what did he get for it? Certainly not what he was promised – a cure for Scully's cancer. He couldn't sit there and watch her die. When the option presented itself in the form of the Cigarette Smoking Man who enjoyed tormenting him regularly, he grabbed it. Her cancer was not her fault, and he'd been damned if it killed her.

However, it just may despite his best efforts.

After looking over his shoulder, afraid of being accused of a murder he didn't commit, he found himself staring down the barrel of his own agent's weapon in his own apartment. Mulder. Whom he'd talked out of doing anything rash to safe his partner's life when she was first diagnosed.

Seems he couldn't follow his own advice. And, he damned sure couldn't give Mulder the gory details.

But, when the murder rap seemed to fade after Mulder lied to the forensics lab concerning the location the gun was found, the guilt over what he'd done didn't fade with it. Somehow, without giving Mulder cold, hard facts to prove his innocence, he knew. Mulder knew he wasn't a killer.

Skinner almost committed a cold-blooded murder, instead. He'd have given anything to kill that smoking son of a bitch for putting him in this situation. His cool veneer, his veiled threats would be gone. Not to mention the stench of cigarette smoke that hid a more vile, evil odor.

But, just as the man said, so would the cure for Scully's cancer.

Firing the weapon into the wall did make him feel somewhat better, although firing it into the man's heart would have certainly been more gratifying.

But, that would have been the point of no return. He would, in essence, be just like them – the people who were slowly, but surely, finishing a hair-raising tale 50 years in the making.

And, he just couldn't do it. Some vestige of humanity was still in him after all.

When he left the grungy motel room, he didn't know what to do. He was a bought man. They owned him. He had to do as they said, which was to rid the FBI of the formidable force that was Scully and Mulder. They had stumbled upon something that was bigger than all of them, and whatever that was, these unseen forces didn't like it one bit.

He drove to the first bar he saw, some sleazy joint with a flashing neon sign that barely worked. And drank.

He drank to forget what he had done. And what he had become.

And what he never could be.

But, the damn cigarette smoke in the bar was driving him insane. So, just this side of sobriety, he left.

Hell, he'd already committed more crimes than he could count? What was an additional DUI charge on top of it? He drove aimlessly, searching for an answer that he hoped was there, but afraid didn't even exist.

He didn't even realize what direction he was headed until he saw the bright sign outside of _Gordo's_.

Her green eyes came unbidden to his mind. They didn't judge. They didn't lie. They didn't ask him to do things he just plain didn't want to do.

No matter that she would probably recoil in horror at the things he'd done. He wouldn't tell her. All he wanted was some sort of hope that tomorrow, things might be a little better. Even just a bit.

Because it damn sure couldn't get any worse.

* * *

Anna heard the phone ringing in her sleep. Thinking it was her parents, always forgetting the time difference, she fumbled for it.

"H'lo?"

"Anna? It's Gertie."

Anna struggled into a sitting position. Nero raised his head and looked at her, then with a groan, rolled onto his side and went back to sleep. "Gertie? It's almost 2 a.m."

"That's right. And the bar's fixin' to close."

This was weird. And, she was tired. Or maybe she was dreaming. She rubbed her eyes wearily "What's wrong, Gertie?"

She could practically hear the older woman take a puff of her ever-present cigarette. "I want you to get your ass over here."

"Gertie, what are you talking about? Do you know what time it is?"

"I know what time it is!" The woman's voice was sharp, and obediently, Anna kept her comments to herself. When she resumed talking, it was in a lower voice. "It's your big tipper. He's here. The FBI man whatever-his-name-is.""

Her sleepy mind was instantly alert.

That figures. He'd finally show up on a night she was off – but, wait. The kitchen closed at 11 p.m. He knew that. Why show up now?

Gertie took her silence as an invitation to continue. "He's drunk off his gourd, sug. He showed up here an hour ago drunk as Cooter Brown, and he just kept drinking."

Anna threw back the covers and flipped on the light, wide awake. "What's wrong? Did he say anything? Do anything?" She just couldn't picture him on a drunken rampage. It didn't fit. None of it did.

"Not a damn thing. When we told him you were off tonight, he sat down at the bar, asked for a bottle of whiskey and a glass, and went to town."

Anna was trying to throw on some clothes and talk at the same time. "Why call me?"

She could almost see the woman give one of her famous shrugs. "I dunno. He asked for you. Seems pretty upset about something, too. Gordo and Ace wanted me to put him in a cab, but he sort of looks like he needs . . . well . . . something! Just get your ass down here, so we can go home!" Gertie slammed the phone down, leaving Anna staring at her receiver.

Throwing on jeans and a shirt with some flip-flops she used when going down the street to see Libby and the girls, she dashed out the door.

Nero insisted on coming, and honestly, she wanted the company. This was unfamiliar territory, and she was a little apprehensive about it.

With the light traffic, she got to _Gordo's_ in record time, finding a parking space right in front of the restaurant. She noted what she was pretty sure was Walter's car parked right in front of hers, albeit a little crookedly.

Gertie was waiting on her at the front door. "Get him outta here, so we can go home," she said gruffly.

Anna didn't pay any attention to her seemingly heartless attitude. If she was that heartless, she'd have thrown Walter out on the street. Her bark was much worse than her bite. Anna knew that by now.

He was sitting at the far end of the darkened bar, the only lights coming from the kitchen. Anna thought she saw Gordo's unhappy face in the window from the kitchen, but it just as soon disappeared.

Her attention went back to Walter, who had definitely looked like he'd seen better days. He was leaned heavily on his arms on the bar, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie missing. She'd never seen him any way but immaculate, and his unkempt appearance took her by surprise. He looked 'pure-T miserable' as her grandmother would say.

And, she didn't know what to do.

Heck, she barely even knew the man! Just because he could make her heart race at times didn't mean she could mend whatever was wrong with him.

But, she wanted to. There was no way she could leave him here. She didn't know if it was because of what he'd done for her or because she plain didn't want to. But, she couldn't leave him all alone.

She wanted to know, to make his pain her own.

Quietly, feeling Gertie's gaze on her back, she flip-flopped her way towards him.

* * *

He couldn't forget. No matter how much he drank, the knowledge of what he had done was still sitting there, mocking him, laughing at him, telling him he'd compromised his principles for an apparition. Chasing dreams.

And now, he was stuck.

To top it all off, she wasn't here.

But, he needed another drink, so he stayed.

Now, it was time to go. He had nothing to go home to. He had nothing to work for tomorrow. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. His career was going down the tubes in a hurry, and all he could do was watch.

And, he could have sworn he smelt her perfume.

Laughing to himself at his own foolishness, he took another sip of whiskey, the now-familiar burn in his throat welcome to his decrepit, worn out soul.

"What's so funny?"

Her voice was soft, questioning, worried. Just hearing it almost brought tears to his eyes.

Dammit, just where did she come from?

He didn't look at her. _Couldn't_ look at her. Afraid he'd bawl like a baby if he laid eyes on her.

And she didn't need to know. These were things she should be sheltered from, not made to face.

"Not a damn thing." He drained his glass and reached for the almost-empty bottle.

* * *

Anna didn't know what to say. His words weren't slurred, but he'd apparently drank that whole bottle, plus no telling what else. Also, she could hear Gertie's impatient shuffling behind her, so she better try something.

He reached for the bottle, but she got it first, setting it on another table away from him.

His hand fell to the bar, empty, but he still wouldn't look at her. "Doesn't matter. Doesn't help anyway." Now, his words were just a little slurred. She probably wouldn't have noticed if she didn't know him. Or think she knew him.

Anna climbed onto the stool next to him and leaned against the bar, her knees barely touching his side. "What's wrong?"

Laughing bitterly, he thought of all the myriad of things that were wrong, his alcohol-induced brain settling on what had caused all of this in the first place. "Scully's in the hospital."

He heard her sharp intake of breath. "Why?"

"Cancer. It's back."

"I didn't know . . ." Her voice trailed off. The woman did look a little pale, but most certainly not deathly ill.

"She didn't want to take any time off. She was determined to work. Stubborn woman."

Anna had many, many questions, but only one surfaced. "What're the doctors saying?"

Suddenly, he wished for another drink. But, it looked like they were the only two left in the restaurant.

Was it that late already?

Boy, time flies when you're having fun.

"The doctors are saying there's no hope. They give her a week. One week."

He looked so miserable, her heart went out to him.

Part of her couldn't help but wonder why he cared so much. He was just her boss, after all.

But, that's what made him good at his job. You had to care just a little bit.

"How's Mulder?"

"In denial. At least, up until she collapsed. He'll be worthless without her." He didn't dare tell her the gory details. She wouldn't understand. No one would understand.

She scrambled for something to say. "They seem close."

He glanced at her sharply. "How do you know?"

She was a little taken aback. "They . . . came to my house. After you were shot."

He seemed satisfied with her answer and went back to staring into his empty glass.

"That's not all that's bothering you."

"Boy, nothing gets by you." His tone was not kind.

Anna soldiered on. "You've seen enough, been around enough, to know about death. I can only imagine what you saw in Vietnam. And, the FBI probably isn't much simpler. Yes, she has cancer. And, yes, she might die. I just don't see you . . . you . . ."

"Drinking myself into a stupor over it?"

She drew in a deep breath. "Unless you . . . care about her?" It was possible. They worked together daily. And Dana Scully was a beautiful, poised woman.

And, Anna had long accepted the fact she was neither.

He looked at her, his eyes boring into her own. "I demand loyalty in my agents. They should receive nothing but loyalty in return."

Anna considered herself rebuked and wondered if he would just get up and walk out the door.

But, he kept on, picking up his empty glass and staring into it. "I care enough about her – and for Mulder - to compromise myself, my job and my life to see justice done."

Forgetting early promises to himself, he slammed the glass down so hard on the bar, Anna jumped, surprised when it didn't shatter in his hand. "They promised me, god_dammit_! They told me if I did it, they'd give me her cure!" He knew he shouldn't tell her. And he wouldn't. It would take too long to explain. But, he wanted her to understand! "But, it wasn't enough. Now, I'm at their mercy. Just like Scully. I'm just like them. Just as awful as them . . ."

He was hinting at things Anna didn't even want to contemplate. Cure? For cancer? And just what _did_ he do exactly?

There was more going on here than she knew.

And, she couldn't sit here and watch him suffer.

She placed her hand on his arm, wondering if he'd even let her. "You risked your life and your career for a friend. That's something to be proud of, not ashamed."

He didn't shrug off her touch. In fact, her compassion was almost more than he could take, a compassion he could feel in the light pressure on his arm. He didn't look at her, but he reached over with his left hand, putting it over hers. "It doesn't make it right." He rubbed her hand lightly with his thumb. "It doesn't make it right."

His touch was gentle, and she had the urge to protect him from whatever was going on here.

Strange because she was the one who usually need protecting.

"You're a good man. I don't care what anyone says. Even you."

He looked at her, a little amused despite the situation. "My dear, sweet Anna. Always seeing the good in everyone." His voice was tender.

She held her breath. More than a little surprised, she figured it was just the alcohol making him act so out of character.

Then, did she really know the man? After what, spending just a few hours in his company?

Maybe she was as naïve as Allen always said she was.

She hated that her voice trembled when she spoke. "If you weren't a good man, you wouldn't be sitting in a closed bar at 2 a.m. drinking your troubles away because of something you did that was wrong. If you were as evil as . . . as these others, you would be sleeping like a baby right now, not a care in the world."

"When you say it, you make it sound less like the problem it really is." His voice was deep with emotion, and she could have sworn she saw the sheen of tears in his eyes.

"Just don't call my Pollyanna. I hate that." She tried to lighten the mood.

It didn't seem to work.

He put down his hand and turned away from her. "I think this world would be a better place if there were more people like you in it."

"I think the world would be a _boring_ place if there were more people like me in it."

A ghost of a smile on his face. But, he remained silent.

"Let me take you home."

"I'll take a cab."

"No. I'm afraid . . . you won't . . ." She didn't know how to say it. She was afraid he'd take another way out. When you thought there was nothing else in life to live for, it was the easy thing to do. Lord knew that she understood that much.

He wanted her to take him home. To come upstairs with him. To have her whisper to him that everything would be OK, just like she did the night he was shot. And maybe – just maybe – everything really would be, that she could make it all go away.

As usual, reality reared its ugly head.

He rose to his feet faster than she thought he was capable of after drinking so much. Standing right in front of her and griping both of her arms tightly, he leaned in so close, she could smell the booze on his breath.

"Don't you _understand_? I can't _let_ you get involved. They'll see you. They'll use it against me. All my friends, my family, they'll play mind games until nothing is left but hate and death. Don't you _see_?"

Anna knew he wouldn't hurt her. She was more frightened of this faceless entity he kept speaking of "_Who_? Who is doing this to you? I _want_ to understand who's doing this, who's causing you such pain."

For a brief second, he almost told her. He almost told her everything he knew that was going on, everything he had done and everything he speculated was going to happen.

But, he didn't. He let her go and stepped back.

"I'm . . . sorry, Anna. I truly am. You never asked for this." He rubbed his face with his hands, suddenly more exhausted than he'd ever been in his life.

When Gertie cleared her throat, Anna almost jumped out of her skin, so intent was she on his pain.

"There's a cab waiting."

He glanced at the older woman, trying to figure out who she was and what she was doing.

Gertie realized there would be no answer and stepped into the kitchen. Anna could hear muted voices that faded away.

He looked at her one last time. Then, he was gone.

Anna watched him step into the cab on the sidewalk as she sat stock still at the bar.

She wanted to stop him. Oh, how she wanted to! To tell him he was wrong. There's always hope. If anything, she'd learned that. Even when you didn't want to go on, there was always something.

But, she couldn't put it into words fast enough. And, now he was gone.

"Did you help him any?" Gertie asked from behind.

Anna kept staring out the restaurant door. "Not a bit. I think I made it worse."

"I don't think he could get any worse."

Anna was afraid he could.


	12. Chapter 12

References to the eps at the end of season four/beginning season five

* * *

She didn't know why she did it. She barely knew Dana Scully.

But, just the thought of that vibrant woman wasting away so quickly in a sad little hospital room almost made her want to weep. There was nothing she could do. But, she had to at least let her know she was thinking of her, praying of her.

Plus, she hadn't seen Walter since the night he left the bar. A small part of her thought he might be there. Honestly, she figured she wouldn't ever see him again, at least of his own choice. He'd said things to her that frightened her with veiled implications, and for the life of her, she couldn't figure out what was going on.

Anna figured she didn't really want to know what it was. Except for the fact that it would help her to understand him just that much more.

She'd paid close attention to the newspaper, reading it from front to back, hoping to figure out what exactly he was talking about.

Whatever it was, it wasn't in the media.

And, to be honest with herself, she was making sure he hadn't done anything rash. Sure, he had been drunk, but he seemed so hurt, so alone. From first hand experience, she knew that was a bad combination.

But, there was nothing in the paper. No unexplained deaths. Nothing any more unusual than normal.

She wondered if he was still hurting. Or, if he'd managed to work his way through it.

If she let herself, she especially wondered just why he came looking for her in the first place.

Anna felt as if she were fed just enough information to keep her guessing, questions that she wanted answered, but questions she would probably never ask.

Pawing through her photos, finding one she liked and framing it, then picked her way through traffic.

Hospitals still creeped her out after spending so much time in one after the accident. But, it was a little more easier than it had been to push those thoughts away, especially since she had so many other concerns.

The door to Scully's room was cracked, and Anna knocked gently before putting her head inside. There was a man inside she didn't recognize, and he was in the middle of heated conversation with Scully.

"Excuse me," Anna mumbled, backing out at the sound of angry voices.

He looked up, startled. "And just who the hell are you?"

"Bill!" Dana said, mortified.

He sighed hugely, shaking his head. "Sorry, sorry. I was just leaving." Without another glance in Anna's direction, he barreled past her out the door.

Anna watched him stalk away before entering the room slowly. "I didn't mean to interrupt, but the door . . ."

"My brother. He's always like that."

"Gee, I thought my brother was bad." Anna tried to commensurate as she perched on the edge of a chair by the bed. And tried not to stare.

Dana Scully looked awful. Her color was almost non-existent, and the dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes showed just how badly the disease was taking its toll on her body.

Scully didn't seem to notice her scrutiny. Or either, she was accustomed to it by now. She smoothed out the blanket on her bed. "He needs someone to blame. For my illness. So, he lashes out at my job, Mulder, whoever is close by. It's his nature." Her eyes welled momentarily before she brushed them away. "I'm sorry, but lately, it just seems like . . ."

Anna put her hand over hers in what she hoped was not too-familiar a gesture. "Don't worry about it."

Scully gave her a small smile in return.

Remembering the gift, she passed it over. "It's something I thought you might like. I've found that a picture lasts a whole lot longer than the actual thing."

Carefully, Scully opened the package, her face brightening. She looked at it for a moment before placing it on the table by her bed. Anna was glad she chose the tulips. The multi-colored photo she took earlier in the spring seemed to brighten up the room.

Anna spoke first. "Tulips are my favorite. Can't grow them worth a lick, though."

"Me, either. I'm never at home long enough to keep anything alive."

They sat in silence for a moment, the whirl and hiss of monitors to fill the void.

"What did he tell you?"

Anna looked up, surprised. "Who?"

"Skinner." A dark look passed over her face. "I'm assuming he's the one that told you. About this." She motioned around the room.

She didn't want to tell Scully what he'd said. It was too personal, and she had the distinct impression he didn't want it to be told. "It was several days ago. He told me your cancer had returned. He was fairly . . . despondent about it."

Now, it was Scully's turn to look surprised. "Really?"

Anna picked at the hem of her shirt. "He said something about a cure." She looked at Scully, a question she had been mulling over in her mind for days bubbling forth. "Is there really a cure?"

Scully sighed. She didn't want to get into the gory details, but apparently Skinner had taken it upon himself to tell her some of them.

And, despite the fact she still didn't know if she should trust him. In her paranoid state, she just knew he was the one feeding all their hard work and information to the people that were trying to stop them.

Maybe he was closer to the pretty waitress than she thought.

"It's a manmade cancer. That I was given when I was kidnapped a while back. We are . . . hoping if it was given to me, then there is a cure out there. Somewhere." Hope was putting it strongly. It was all she had.

Anna shook her head. "I didn't realize that you'd gone through all that."

So, the assistant director hadn't told her everything. That made Scully feel better. It fit him back in the mold she thought he should be in. Instead of leading them on for four years, as she orginally thought. Some things in her life needed to stay consistent at this point.

And Mulder didn't seem to think it was Skinner. That was consistent, too. Always disagreeing with her.

Scully shrugged, fingering the worn blanket. "It is what it is, I suppose. No changing it now."

"You can't change the past or hope for the future. All you can do is live for today."

Scully glanced at Anna and gave her a small smile. "Spoken like someone who's been through tough times before."

They made small talk for a few minutes, but Anna could see the agent tiring quickly, so she chose that moment to take her leave.

Scully held out her hand, and Anna took it in both of hers. It seemed so much frailer than it did the first time they met. "I'm so glad you stopped by. Seeing the same faces can get a little old after awhile. Thank you for the picture, too. Anything to brighten this dreary place."

Anna returned the agent's smile. "You'll be . . . in my thoughts."

Anna was fairly sure by the time she quietly shut the door, Scully was asleep.

* * *

Skinner heard muted voices, but couldn't tell who Scully's visitor was. Whoever it was sat just out of view from the little window. So, he sat right outside her door and waited, not wanting to interrupt.

He needed a moment to himself, anyway. Mulder was going to drive him up the wall, and he was pretty sure he couldn't save the man from himself, especially down the route he was heading. Coming to terms with his partner's illness and the FBI's own untrustworthiness was wearing the agent down, and Skinner was afraid of watching it all fall down around the man. Neither agent completely trusted him, especially after the events of the last few days.

Hell, he didn't even know if he trusted himself. Trying his best to play both ends against each other, keeping his agents safe and his enemies satisfied, was quickly wearing him to a frazzle.

That, and the annoyance at himself for almost telling Anna everything. Funny, she'd started out as a mere waitress and worked her way up to . . . what?

Skinner didn't know. All he knew was in a time when he needed someone most, he'd turned to her. Then, promptly pushed her away.

She hadn't contacted him since the night at the bar. He hadn't expected her to. She probably thought he was some sort of nut job, anyway, with his half-expressed truths and vague references to things that go bump in the night. Probably thought he had lots of screaming meanies rambling around upstairs. He had already decided he needed to severe that tie in a hurry. Although he was drunk, he was right. He couldn't afford to get involved with anyone right now. They'd just use it against him as a tool to make him do what they wanted him to do. And, right now, it took all his effort to keep both sides busy without compromising his principles.

So, when the door opened softly next to him, the last person he expected to see walked out. Not even giving him a second glance, she softly shut the door behind her, frowning slightly to herself as she walked away from him.

She was dressed for work, but she hadn't yet pulled her hair up into the mandatory ponytail. It fell free past her shoulders, feathered a little around her face. She'd gotten it cut since he'd seen her last. He liked it.

Still frowning, she walked in the opposite direction.

He could have just let her go. She'd never know he was here. He wouldn't have to face her after what he said to her in the bar a week ago.

Instead, he caught up with her before he realized what he was doing. "Anna, wait!"

He wouldn't blame her if she kept going.

* * *

Anna stopped mid-stride. She'd been deep in thought about Dana, but his voice promptly pushed her back to reality.

She turned slowly, her heart pounding, as he caught up with her. Taking a moment to study him before answering, she was relieved to see he at least still looked the same on the outside.

Although his eyes said he'd been through more.

"Walter."

* * *

She only said his name. In that soft voice of hers. And, that one word held just a hint of relief. Not what he expected. Anger, annoyance or even impatience would have been the predictable answer.

But, not concern.

He never stopped to think before that perhaps, he had worried her. With his actions. With showing up drunk, spouting strange things, then promptly disappearing.

Hell, he didn't have to answer to her!

But, maybe he did. He'd invited her into his life. The moment she threw that car jack at his attacker, or maybe it was when she sat the ice pack on his table. And despite the contradictions she'd seen, she was still worried about him.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was gruff.

It was the wrong thing to say, but that's all he seemed to do lately. With anybody.

She squared her shoulders before answering. Good. She couldn't be bullied. "I thought I'd visit Dana, since you said she was in the hospital. I hadn't . . .heard anything else and wanted to see how she was doing."

Of course. What else would she be doing? An orderly wheeled a cart by them in the hallway, and he pulled her aside before answering. "I didn't know you knew Scully that well." There he went again. Accusatory. Expecting the worst.

Her eyes looked hurt at the tone of his voice, but she hid it well. "Dana stopped by the bar one night. Not long after . . . you were shot. Just to talk."

Boy, weren't these people paranoid as hell! Anna didn't know why she felt the need to explain herself, especially after he was basically treating her like a common criminal. She didn't owe him a blessed thing! "I brought her a picture."

But, she was so glad to see him!

That fact alone was enough to scare her into silence.

* * *

Of course, she'd bring Scully a photo. It was how she shared a little of herself with people.

Skinner felt instantly ashamed of his tone and the hurt expression in her eyes

He took off his glasses and ran a hand over his face. "Look, I didn't chase you down the hall to grill you like a felon."

"Well, you're doing a pretty damn good job of it." Anna couldn't help it. He seemed to bring out the fighter in her.

A group of nurses tromped through. Wanting privacy, he took her arm and led her to the stairway next to the elevator.

She looked at him questioningly as the door shut behind them, echoing in the cavernous stairwell.

He looked into her eyes, enjoying the way her hair feathered across her cheeks. He almost told her everything. Right then and there. Again.

Instead, he cleared his throat, shaking his head lightly. "I shouldn't have come to you last week. I was . . . drunk. And needed someone to talk to. I was on that side of town and thought you'd be in . . ." Apologies were not his strong suit, along with anything else that involved normal conversation, and he was awkwardly trying to tell her he was sorry.

"I wished you'd called afterwards. Sent up a smoke signal. Or something. After you left, I didn't know what happened." She wasn't going to tell him that it was alright. It was _not_ alright. She was scared for his safety and all he'd done was disappear.

"I wanted to. Many times. But, it didn't seem . . . right somehow." He could be honest, too, although lately, it was harder and harder to look at himself in the mirror.

"Did you . . . come to terms? With what was bothering you?"

His mouth compressed into a hard line. "I'm not going to compromise my principles again. There's always another way." He might have to think long and hard, but there was _always_ another way. He looked at her again. "I distinctly remember someone telling me that through my drunken haze."

The light in her eyes was genuine, and he was relieved to see it after she looked so distressed. "Glad to know you're listening. For a moment, I thought the dirty glasses on the bar were paying me more attention."

He had to change the subject before he told her everything. "I bet Scully was glad for the visit."

Her smile faltered. "I . . .wasn't expecting it to be this . . . progressed."

He shook his head. "Neither were we. I'm surprised Mulder wasn't here. He's been going and coming at all hours."

"It's hard to lose someone you're close to. . ."

It was talking about Scully as if she were already gone that got him. On top of everything else that was going on. "We're _not_ going to lose her! Dammit, she's not dead yet!"

Anna took a step back, the vehemence of his answer surprising her.

Disgusted with his outburst, Skinner didn't know what to do. She would understand his anger, his annoyance if she knew the entire story. But, hell, he didn't even understand most of it, so how could he expect her to?

And, was all he could do hurt people who tried to help him?

She was reaching for the door knob. "I . . . I better get to work . . ."

He wanted to explain, but he couldn't. It would take the rest of the night to catch her up to speed. But, he didn't want her to leave.

He wanted to tell her that deep inside, this was not who he was. Secrets, lies and deceptions had taken a toll on his character, and now trust was hard to come by, especially deep in his heart.

He couldn't formulate the words fast enough, but his brain was telling him not to let her get away.

So, he reached out, pulling her against him.

It should have been the wrong thing to do.

But, it sure didn't feel like it.

Craving the touch of someone who honestly seemed to care, not just say they did for their own purposes, was dangerous territory. But, he kept unintentionally hurting her, saying and doing the wrong things. There was no other way for him to express how much she'd come to mean to him.

She didn't fight him as he held her against him, pressing his lips against her sweet-smelling hair, although he wouldn't have blamed her if she did. Instead, she surprised him by wrapping her arms around him underneath his coat and burying her face in his jacket.

They didn't stay that way long. He couldn't afford the luxury.

* * *

Anna was shocked. Not at the unexpected embrace or the harsh words before it.

But, at her own blatant need at having him close to her.

She buried her face in his shirt, breathing in the scent of him, memorizing it for those long, dark nights when she woke up sad and alone. In his arms, she felt safe, secure, like nothing could harm her ever again.

Just exactly when did she last feel safe, anyway?

Not since Allen died, that's for sure.

But, if he was gleaning some sort of comfort from her, she could use some from him. He was confused and angry at the turn his life had taken and a good friend was lying in a hospital bed dying. He could do nothing about it. He was used to having control, and finding it slipping from his fingers, it made him feel helpless.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that much.

Unbidden, tears sprung to her eyes, and she squeezed them shut, willing them away.

When he let her go, she hoped he couldn't tell just how close to the surface her tears were.

With one last glance, reluctantly, he walked past her and into the hospital corridors, brushing his hand against hers as he walked by.

Anna stood in the stairway for a few moments, collecting herself.

Still feeling his presence everywhere about her, she made her slow descent down ten flights of stairs.

By the time she got to the bottom, she didn't remember the entire trip down. Her mind was too addled and her brain got her safely to the bottom before she'd realized what was going on.

She may have led a relatively sheltered life, but she was always straight forward, never brutally honest. Everything was in black and white. Right or wrong. Good or bad. No grey areas.

But, she was getting an inkling that she was wrong. Life was full of grey areas. Times when you wanted to do the right thing, but the consequences were so reaching, what seemed like the right choice at the time was bound to have bad effects.

That's what was wrong with Walter. She could feel it in her bones as if he had come out and told her exactly what was going on. A man with few principles didn't let a few grey area dealings bother him.

But, Walter was a haunted man. He'd compromised himself. In doing so, the kindness of a stranger – a waitress in a restaurant – made him reach out for comfort when he usually could operate without it.

Anna was parked at work before she realized it. Shaking her head, she realized she was over dramatizing.

_I've been hanging out with Libby too long._

Snorting at her own presumptuousness in thinking she could actually read between the lines, she climbed out of her car, determined to push this out of her mind.

Although the haunted look on Dana Scully's face and the feel of Walter's arms around her continued to dominate her thoughts long after she would admit it.


	13. Chapter 13

Once again, references to the beginning of season five

* * *

Once again, he'd disappeared. Well, not really disappeared. She figured he was sitting in the Hoover building doing his job, just as she was waiting tables each night, doing hers. But, he'd sure disappeared from her life.

She refused to think about it. Not usually jumping to swift conclusions, she'd tried hard not to read too much into it. For a relationship that started with neither of them saying a word, she figured it was continuing along on track just fine – messed up beyond belief.

Not that it was a relationship relationship. More of a friendship relationship. If that, even. Friends tended to stay in touch, to have some sort of contact.

He had this annoying habit of jumping into her life, scattering her well-maintained sensibilities, then jumping right back out.

But, then again, wasn't that her own fault? She never set any boundaries – just went along with whatever he seemed to have him mind.

And, her life had been filled with too much drama ever since.

Her other friends in Nebraska led the same, mundane lives that she did. Raised on a farm, got married, had babies.

Except for maybe Marlene, who ran to LA to be an actress. But, that was rare where she was from. You were born there, and usually, you died there.

Just like Allen and Scott.

And, Anna's life stopped being mundane the night her husband and son died in the car accident.

But, for the first time since the accident, she felt as if she were making some headway. She had a new job, a hobby that actually paid fairly lucrative at times and a new life complete with new friends. Sure, she still had the nightmares, but they were fewer and further between.

The one loose end was Walter Skinner.

And, night after night, as she unconsciously expected him to show up just as he always had at the restaurant, she began to realize that was a loose end that she would have to tie up on her own. For whatever reason, he wasn't coming back. And, she sure wasn't going to go see him at work. More than likely, she wouldn't even get past security. Plus, she had no reason to see him, no excuse to darken his office door.

So, she didn't.

* * *

The Georgetown street was well-lit and friendly, even at night. Most people were in bed asleep, but there were a few flickering lights that indicated someone was watching the late news. Yards were littered with bicycles and sandboxes, complete with front porch swings creaking lightly in the early summer breeze.

Anna's was one of the few houses that obviously had no children in residence, her well-maintained lawn unblemished by toys.

He parked on the street a few houses down, her house clearly in view. Her car was not in the driveway. There was no light on inside.

She really needed to leave a light on.

But, then again, she had that monster dog. Probably lick someone to death.

Although it didn't escape him that the dog got between her and Mulder and Scully when they raced to catch up with him at the Mall earlier in the spring.

Maybe the dog was more aggressive than he gave it credit for.

Skinner glanced at his watch. She should be home soon.

He could have called her and told her about Scully. For all he knew, Anna might already be aware that her cancer had gone into remission. He knew she'd visited Scully a few more times in the hospital, but he hadn't seen her again. Not since the first time.

Which was probably for the best. His emotions were running way too high dealing with all the events since Scully's being admitted. It was easier to make a mistake if he were not careful.

He would be lying if he said he didn't miss Anna. And, he was sick and damn tired of lying, even to himself. Especially to himself.

But, how in the world could he miss someone he honestly barely knew? He should just let it go. Just the thought of never seeing her sweet smile again saddened him in a part of his soul he thought was long gone, beaten into submission by all he had seen and done.

So, if that were the case, why was he sitting here in the middle of the night waiting on her to come home? Why not catch her at work? Or call?

For once, he couldn't come up with an answer.

So, he waited.

* * *

Gordo was feeling gracious tonight. She'd gotten off work early, so she'd stopped by the grocery store to pick up a few things, making a note to go see Dana tomorrow. She was progressively getting worse, and Anna found it painful to watch. But, Dana seemed to enjoy their short visits, so she kept returning. Anything to keep the other woman's spirits up.

Anna pulled into her driveway, wishing she had remembered to leave a light on inside. When she left for work, it was daylight, and she usually never remembered to flick the switch in the kitchen.

Nero was barking inside. That was strange. He usually never barked.

Shrugging, she opened the back door of her car and started gathering her few sacks of groceries when someone grabbed her roughly from behind, snatching her away from her vehicle. In her sudden fright, it took all she could not to tumble backwards onto her front lawn.

"Where's the money, you bitch?"

Her hand went immediately to her purse still on her shoulder, her mind working overtime. She rarely carried cash, usually only her tips.

But, then she realized who it was. And what he wanted.

"Aaron!" It took her a moment to recognize Allen's only cousin. His clothes were filthy, as well as his hair, and his eyes had the sunken-in appearance of a drug addict, a face she had grown accustomed to seeing in the streets of DC. "What're you doing here?"

Carefully, she reached inside of her purse. Over the beginnings of panic running rampant in her head, she could hear her dog throwing himself against the front door, barking frantically.

Aaron had never outright threatened her before, only pestered her for money, but this time was different, she could already tell by the frantic way he held onto her arm, digging into her flesh.

"Where is it? You _owe_ it to me! He was my _family_!" He pushed her once, and she almost stumbled to the ground, catching herself on the hood of her car.

She didn't care if this was her late husband's only living relative. Not anymore.

Resolutely, she yanked her hand out of her purse and sprayed him in the face with the only weapon she had.

Aaron yowled and fell to the ground, clawing at his eyes, as the mace did its damage.

Before she could run into the house, someone else grabbed her from behind, yanking the mace canister out of her hands, and she yelped in surprise.

"Gimme the money."

Another voice. Anna didn't know who he was, but he was obviously with Aaron. Some tattooed street thug he'd taken up with to get his fix. And, he had a gleam in his eye she did not like.

* * *

Skinner saw her pull into her driveway. He didn't want to startle her by sneaking up on her, but when the two shadows materialized from the hedgerow, one grabbing her from behind, he was out of his car immediately, feet pounding across the street and the neighboring lawns, all senses on alert.

If he called out, one of them could grab her. Skinner always hated hostage situations. He'd seen too many of them go horribly wrong.

And, this neighborhood seemed so safe! Proved safety was just an illusion all along.

Neither one looked armed, so he didn't pull his weapon. Provocation was frowned upon. But, anger boiled through his veins when she was shoved against her car, and he stopped processing coherent thoughts.

All he could think about was getting his hands on both of them.

* * *

She didn't see the second one until he grabbed her from behind.

He was almost there, rushing as silently as he could behind the second attacker. He heard the man's words.

"Gimmie the money."

* * *

Skinner didn't give Anna time to reply, tackling the man, both of them tumbling across her lawn.

* * *

It was all a blur. One moment, the man with all the tattoos was glaring menacingly at her, and the next, he was fighting across her front yard.

Anna didn't know what happened, and she didn't care as long as there was not another of Aaron's cohorts around. Frantically, she searched on the ground at her feet for the bottle of mace as the two men fought on her lawn, wanting to be ready just in case.

She found the canister, but almost dropped it again when she realized who her rescuer was.

She watched as Walter hauled the man, now bloody and bruised, to his feet, slamming him against the front porch steps banister.

"Don't you ever touch her again. Understood?" His voice was menacing, a tone she'd never heard before.

All her would-be attacker could do was nod his head, blood pooling at the corner of his mouth.

"Go. And take him with you." Walter motioned towards Aaron who was still rolling and moaning on the ground.

Anna had almost forgotten he was there.

With one final shove, Walter pushed the man away from him distastefully. Scrambling to his feet, the thug stumbled towards Aaron, managed to drag him to his feet, and they both limped off down the street, the second man looking fearfully behind him.

Anna wanted to collapse to her knees in utter relief as she watched them limp away.

To think, they might have hurt her, even killed her, all for that damn settlement.

That money had caused her more grief than she would have ever dreamed.

"Are you alright?" Breathing heavily, she heard him walk up behind her.

"I . . . I think so." She took inventory. Nothing broken. Nothing bruised. Just scared half to death, that's all. "Shouldn't we have called the police?" It surprised her he didn't take that route.

"Too much damn trouble."

She couldn't argue with him there. This way, they were less likely to return if they knew the consequences were more . . . immediate. She turned away from the sight of the two men scampering away and focused on his face. "You're bleeding."

He fumbled in his coat pocket for his handkerchief, pressing it against his lip. "It's nothing."

"And your hand."

He glanced at the back of his right hand. It, too, had blood dripping down his fingers from a cut, probably from connecting with the creep's front teeth. He flexed his fingers, making the injury bleed even more.

"Come inside. I'll help you clean up."

It took her a moment to calm Nero before they walked inside, shutting the door behind them.

He noticed Anna turned both locks.

He stood in the living area, catching his breath, as he waited for her to set the groceries down, glancing at the tastefully, yet simply decorated room. Everything was neat. In its place. Yet, it had a lived-in look that only a woman can give a house, making it a home.

It wasn't usually a type place he felt at home in.

He winced when he took a deep breath. Her attacker was a fighter, that's for damn sure, if his bruised ribs had anything to say about it.

She reemerged from the kitchen, her dog on her heels.

Without saying a word, he followed her down the hall to the master bathroom. They had to tromp through her bedroom, which was just as neat and cozy as the living area.

Anna pointed to her dog. "Sit. Stay."

The dog paused, gave him a look that said, 'you mess with her, and you die,' then sat as instructed.

He stood in the doorway of the bathroom and watched as she gathered supplies, noting her hand shook as she dug through a drawer, searching for bandages. It was the only outward appearance she gave of being upset at what had happened.

With her supplies lined up, she reached for his hand wrapped in his now-bloody handkerchief. Unwrapping it and tossing it aside, she stuck his hand under the warm water, rubbing her thumb lightly over the cut to make sure it was clear of all debris.

He was clearly quite capable of handling his own cuts and bruises, thank you very much, but it had been a long time since someone had tended to him. They both had to stand fairly close together in the small confines of the bathroom, and surrounded by all her things, he was almost a little overwhelmed, uncomfortable being in such close proximity to her.

After she was satisfied it was clean, she pulled out the alcohol. He tensed as the liquid pooled in the cut, but she held onto his wrist firmly.

"Don't want you getting anything nasty from that cretin." It was the first words she'd spoken since they'd walked in the house, and her voice was a little shaky, her hair falling across her face as she bandaged his hand.

"As long as he didn't get his hands on you."

She looked up at him gratefully, giving him a small smile before resuming her duties.

Satisfied his hand was clean, she ran a clean washcloth under hot water and reaching up, dabbed at his cut lip.

He couldn't help but look at her.

She chewed on her bottom lip in concentration, and a strand of hair remained across her mouth, although she didn't seem to notice.

Without thinking, he reached out and brushed it away, leaving his fingers on her cheek longer than he should have.

* * *

Trying her best to ignore it, she could feel his eyes on her as she worked

But, she could not ignore the feel of his finger brushing across her cheek.

She stiffened, holding her breath, her hand holding the now-bloody wash cloth coming to rest at her side, as she looked into his eyes, his expression unreadable.

But, then again, he was good at that. Sometimes, she knew what he was thinking. But, most of the time, he had that damnable guard up against who knows what, and she was left in the dark.

Startled, she realized something about herself.

She wanted him to kiss her.

_Say something, dummy! You're just going to get yourself into trouble if you don't!_

"I know you didn't come all the way out here to rescue me from Aaron."

The moment passed, and his hand dropped from her cheek. She breathed a sigh of relief, ignoring that little part of her that was disappointed.

"Aaron? You _knew_ those men?"

She made a face, turning towards the sink, busying herself with tidying up. "Aaron is my late husband's cousin. His only living family."

"Some family."

Anna stopped with she was doing and caught his eyes in the bathroom mirror. "Allen wasn't like that."

"I didn't say he was."

Anna didn't want to argue. She walked into her bedroom, glad to get away from such close proximity to him. Maybe it was what was making her crazy.

"Allen always had a soft spot for Aaron and helped him out of trouble his entire life. When Allen . . . died, Aaron didn't have anyone to bail him out. So, I did. For awhile. But, it just got worse and worse, and finally, I cut him off. He wasn't happy, and he'd call every once awhile, but I honestly . . .never thought he'd do . . . something so, so . . . awful."

"How long as he been on drugs?"

Anna settled on the edge of her bed. Nero made his way to her, forgetting his order to stay, and she absently pat him on the head as he whined and leaned against her leg. "Off and on. Nothing serious." She looked at him. "At least, until now."

"The other man?"

"Never saw him before."

"What did he mean about the money?" He knew he sounded like he was grilling her again, but he had to know the answers. No need beating around the bush.

She sighed, debating on telling him.

For a moment, he wondered if she was going to tell him to mind his own business.

But, she didn't. "The drunk driver that killed Allen was driving a company truck coming home from a company event. They settled with my lawyer. Or, my parents' lawyer, to be exact. I didn't care to sue, but my parents insisted. $15.1 million."

She glanced at him for his reaction, but he didn't even bat an eye.

Looking back down at her hands, she continued her story. "It was all over the news at home, so of course, Aaron thought some of the money should be his. If I knew he wouldn't have wasted it on booze and drugs, I'd have given him some. I didn't want it. Blood money, that's all it is. But, I didn't want it killing Aaron, either."

"It looks like Aaron will kill himself one way or the other."

"I just didn't want it to be on my shoulders. But, I guess," she paused for a moment, "I guess if Allen hadn't always been bailing him out of trouble, he wouldn't be like this." She shrugged. "Who knows? Aaron was always such a nice guy, and everybody loves him, so it was easy for him to schmooze his way out of anything." She sat still for a moment, lost in her thoughts, before shaking herself back to reality. "C'mon, Nero. Let's go get you something to eat."

She was hiding something. And, she was running from him, retreating. There were way too many holes in her story.

He failed to realize he was doing the exact same thing.

For a brief moment, he wondered why she even bothered working such a low-paying job if she was worth $15.1 million. But, the 'blood money' comment made sense. He didn't think he blamed her one bit.

His eyes scanned her room for a moment before he found what he was looking for. Picking up the photo on her nightstand, he felt like a heel for prying.

She and who he guessed was Allen were smiling into the camera, her arms wrapped around a little boy in her arms. He looked to be about two or three. The photo was obviously taken in the fall, and the little boy was reaching for a pumpkin in his father's arms. It was a happy family picture, one that probably graced most of the mantels and walls in any house in this neighborhood.

She never said anything about a child.

He placed the photo back carefully where he found it.

"You never told me what you were here for." She was in the kitchen, and he followed the sound of her voice.

For a moment, he almost forgot himself the reason he was here. "It's Agent Scully. She's . . .better."

Anna almost dropped the scoop of dog food she had in her hand, Nero waiting impatiently at her feet. "Better? You're _kidding_?"

"Her cancer's gone into remission." He couldn't help but smile, remembering how much better she looked just that morning.

Anna tossed the food into Nero's bowl. "That's _amazing_! I never would have guessed she'd have . . ." She stopped, realizing what she was saying, remembering how angry it made him to talk like that.

He knew what she meant. Scully was dying, and they all knew it. Just by looking at her, they knew it. And, he also knew the reason why she paused. Their damned conversation in the hospital stairwell came back to haunt him.

"What happened? I know it just didn't disappear." She carefully stepped around what she was getting ready to say.

He was glad she changed the subject. "It was Mulder."

"He found the cure? The one that . . . you were looking for?" She leaned on the counter, arms crossed, looking at him. It seemed a safe distance away. She couldn't reach out and touch him like she wanted to, to glean some sort of courage from his strength, at the same time, offering what little comfort she could.

He rubbed his hand across his face, careful to avoid his bruised lip, suddenly feeling exhausted beyond belief and settled onto a stool at the bar.

"Scully went missing awhile back . . ."

"She told me. Someone gave her cancer. That's why you thought there was a cure."

He studied her for a moment before continuing, wondering just how much he could trust her. Trust was almost laughable nowadays. "Her cancer wasn't an issue until a . . . chip, a computer chip, was removed from her neck. Mulder managed to get another one and took the chance on putting it back." He shrugged. "It worked."

Anna seemed to be thinking about what he said, and took so long to say anything, he thought she might think he was stark raving mad. "I'm glad it was Mulder. That seems . . . fitting. Somehow. I saw him a couple times in the hospital, and I have to admit, I was more worried about him at times than her."

Skinner didn't dare get into the conspiracy theory that had already left one upper-level FBI agent dead, shot to death in an apparent suicide in his office after being accused of a government conspiracy by Mulder. He propped his elbows no the bar, leaning wearily against it for strength.

She interrupted his thoughts. "I guess that makes us even now?"

Confused, he looked at her. "What do you mean?"

"I saved your life. You saved mine." She said it with a chuckle. "I have to admit, that doesn't happen to me everyday."

He thought fleetingly of the rage that surged them him as he watched the two attackers manhandle her. Sure, he saw this everyday, but he never had such a reaction to it as he did tonight.

"And don't tell me you get used to it," she teased lightly, trying, but failing, to decipher the emotions she saw flit through his eyes.

"Actually, I was thinking just when you do get used to it, something happens to prove you otherwise."

She didn't know what to say, an awkward silence ensuing. But, God bless her mother, Anna's good manner kicked in. "Would you like something to eat? Or drink?"

He shook his head, standing carefully. "I better get going."

Anna didn't want him to go. What if they came back? Aaron, she could probably handle. What if the other one came back and brought even more tattooed friends with him?

That thought made her blood run cold.

He saw the fear on her face, a fear that looked out of place on her lovely eyes. Cursing that they did this to her, he almost gathered her in his arms again.

But, he stopped himself, instead heading to the door. "I'll be right back."

She followed him to the door and watched as he walked towards his car, scanning the area for any threat.

She'd never felt threatened in her own front yard. But, thanks to Aaron, she'd always be a little scared.

He reached under the seat and griped the cold steel. Checking to see that it was loaded, he made his way to her front door. She was standing in the light spilling from the doorway, her arms wrapped around her small frame, watching him as Nero sniffed and snuffled on the front lawn, no doubt taking stock of what had happened in his absence.

He reached into his pocket and handed the Sig Sauer to her grip first. "You remember how to use it?"

She wrapped her fingers around the handle carefully and hefted the weighty piece of metal awkwardly, staring at it in her hand. She nodded once in response to his question.

He gently placed his finger underneath her chin, making her look at him. "I still owe you another lesson, don't I?"

She smiled, some of the fatigue and stress around her eyes fading. "You don't owe me a thing."

Gun in hand, she whistled for her dog, who promptly galloped into the house after giving one last sniff of the lawn. Skinner stood on the steps for a moment, listening for the click of both locks sliding home.


	14. Chapter 14

More Season 5 mytharc stuff. And (as if all of you couldn't tell!), I made up the meeting in at the mall that's coming up. Oh yeah, and by now on the show, we all knew that Skinner wouldn't compromise Mulder and Scully, but I took the liberty of letting CSM think he still would.

* * *

Anna took the day off. She needed a break.

For one, she didn't sleep after he left.

And, it wasn't nightmares, although goodness knows she had every right to have them after Aaron and his new buddy had such a nice little visit with her.

It wasn't even her lost husband and child. That ache was a familiar one, welcome to the confusion she was feeling now.

Just what exactly was going on here? Sure, she had been jokingly called 'Pollyanna' her entire life, but she wasn't naïve. She knew there were things out there that pure evil brought to life, and pure evil was a hard enemy to beat. Like what Aaron would have done to her. Or the lasting effects of alcohol that could change her innocent family's life forever.

Not good bedtime images, that's for sure.

Just when she would push those thoughts out of her head, his image would come unbidden to her mind. The distress on his face that night at _Gordo's_, trying to tell her in a roundabout way that he had done bad things for the right reasons. At the hospital the first time she went to see Scully, how exhausted he was, making his emotions jump from calm to angry in a split second. And how he caressed her face gently, carefully, his expression, for once, unreadable to her, his blood drying on his face.

Something was wrong, and she wanted to help. She tried to tell herself all night it was her nature. Growing up, she was always bringing home hurt birds and chipmunks, once even a snake, not standing to see their pain. Her family joked that anyone who needed anything only had to come to her with a sob story, and her big heart would always win. As she got older, she learned to curb it, having to find out the hard way how a select few would take advantage of her if she let them.

But, then again, maybe this wasn't the case. Sure, he was hurting, and that's what drew her to him in the first place – the obvious physical pain he was in the night he came into the restaurant after the fight. But, maybe this was something else entirely. Maybe it was a blatant need – one she thought had laid dormant since Allen's death – to love and be loved.

Although love was such a strong word. Just because the few times they'd touched, her body responded in kind, didn't mean it was reciprocated.

Or was it?

Heck, she didn't know. The only guy she ever dated was Allen, and they'd grown up together. It was easy for them, knowing each other since cradle years. After he died, she never thought about returning to the dating pool. The loss his death, along with their son's, left in her heart had her believing she could never fill it with anything else.

Slowly – so slowly she didn't even realize it – she was healing. The empty places she had filled with her little family could never be refilled, but they could be remade, formed into something else entirely.

What, she did not know.

But, just as it always did, time would tell.

* * *

The fallout from Mulder's accusations on government conspiracies and Scully's cancer took awhile to unfold. Although they were not essentially his agents any longer – AD Kersh was given that role – he still had to deal with the endless meetings and accusations, finger pointing he figured would go on until the end of time.

Which might be closer than they all reckoned.

But, amongst the chaos, he found time to do something he'd been meaning to do. It was all he knew to do, a method of fact-gathering he was familiar with.

What he found filled a hefty-sized file, thanks to her hometown newspaper.

He started out looking under 'Anna Greensburg,' only adding her maiden name of Turner to the mix out of pure curiosity. It took him several days, but when he was done, he had a complete look at the facts surrounding her life.

Not wanting to wait to read it, he sat at his desk and read through the file, which he'd put in chronological order.

When he turned the last page over, he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

It didn't know if he should admire her or feel sorry for her.

The light knock at his door surprised him at the late hour. Quickly, he put his glasses on, focusing on his visitor.

Mulder.

He should have known. The man never seemed to sleep.

"Sorry, sir. Didn't know if you'd still be in."

This could never be good. "What is it, Agent Mulder?" he asked sharply.

Mulder took it as an invitation to enter. "I have this case I need your advice on . . ."

"You know you are no longer under my jurisdiction."

Mulder made a face. "I know, but . . ."

Skinner held up his hand, gathering the papers on his desk into a file with the other. "Anything you do, you run by AD Kersh. With all the hot water we're all in, it seems to me following protocol is your best bet." It wasn't a suggestion, and he made sure it came across that way.

Mulder eyed the file on his desk. "Scully's back this week."

"So I heard. How is she?"

"Better. I think she'll be OK."

"Thanks to you."

Mulder tapped the file in his hands on Skinner's desk, looking like he wanted to say something else. Instead, he backed off. "Have a good evening, sir."

Skinner watched him go, shutting the door softly behind him, wondering just what he deserved for having those two agents walk into his life.

But, he had to know the truth, as well. Maybe not going about it the same head-long way Mulder did, but he had to know just the same. Especially if the government he pledged to serve was involved.

* * *

"Why else would he have a file on her if he didn't trust her about something?"

Scully rolled her eyes at her partner's ranting.

"I saw that."

"You're supposed to be driving." The windshield wipers lazily swept back and forth, wiping the remnants of the summer rainstorm away for visibility purposes.

"I know you. You enjoy rolling your eyes at my expense."

Although he couldn't see her, she made sure she didn't roll them again. "I don't know, Mulder. Maybe she's applying for a position that requires a background check. Or maybe he just wants to know. I did my own research on her after Skinner was shot."

He glanced at his partner. "You did? Why didn't you tell me?"

Scully shrugged. "It was something I did on my own. To make sure none of it was any sort of . . . well, coincidence."

"You wanted to see if she had ties to CSM, didn't you?"

"Well, yes. And no."

"Well? What did you find?"

"Absolutely nothing, Mulder. She's as she appears to be, as far as I can tell."

"Except she has this uncanny ability of wrapping our former assistant director around her little finger."

"Don't exaggerate, Mulder."

"I'm not exaggerating," he argued. "I saw the way he looked at her that day at the monument. And what about that day on her front porch and the look on her face when she thought we were coming to tell her Skinner was dead." He tapped his forehead with his finger. "I pay more attention to things than you think I do. Plus, I bet you didn't know he beat the crap out of some guy who attacked her on her lawn?"

Scully stared at her partner. "How do you know that?"

"Elementary, my dear Scully. Plus, some really good contacts."

Scully shook her head. "You never cease to amaze me, you know that?"

He grinned. "Good. Keeps it interesting."

"That it does," she replied, more to herself than to Mulder.

* * *

Anna had always wanted to see the monuments at night. Although safety was always an issue in DC, she knew security was tighter around those areas than most. But, she left her dog at home, much to his chagrin. No need inviting trouble.

She also left Walter's pistol in her nightstand. The last thing she needed was to be caught without a permit with a pistol that was registered to someone other than herself. She made a mental note to return it as soon as possible. As soon as she got her own.

Granted, she hadn't seen him in several days, but she probably wasn't high on his list of priorities.

Conveniently, she didn't wonder about his soft touch. It seemed like a bad road to travel, especially when he disappeared from her life for days on end.

The Jefferson Memorial was her favorite, and she found a few spots to shoot, making sure to use a type of film for low-level light, as well as a special lens and flash that attached to the camera. It was expensive, but if these photos turned out like she thought, it would be worth it.

There were several people out, many strolling through the park, enjoying the summer breeze. There were a few nighttime tours that involved ghost stories, and those groups kept up a brisk pace.

Time always flew by when she was working like this, and the hours passed quickly. A day could feel like a minute as she looked through her camera lens.

That's what made it such a good escape route from her problems.

Almost at the end of the roll of film, she realized the flash wasn't working. Again. Mumbling, she found a concrete bench half-hidden by shrubbery and plopped on it, reaching in her pocket to find her second spare set of AAAs.

"C'mon, you stupid camera. Just a few more shots." She found her spares, but dropped one, hearing it roll underneath the bench.

"Crap," she hissed through clenched teeth. Reaching underneath awkwardly and fumbling with her fingers, she still came up empty. Climbing on her hands and knees, trying to keep her camera off the ground, she crawled behind the bench in the shrubbery feeling around for the errant battery. The branches scratched her face, and she prayed this wasn't something she was allergic to, since she was basically wallowing in it.

Her fingers finally wrapped around the cylindrical object, and she made a sound of satisfaction. Not wanting to risk dropping it again, she sat right where she was, right in the middle of the shrubbery, making sure to get the battery where it needed to go.

"What about Mulder?"

Anna stopped at the sound of the familiar name.

"We've got it all worked out. He will not be a problem. He's off the X-Files, as well as his partner."

"I thought she was taken care of."

Anna glanced around, careful not to rustle the leaves. She could just make out two men, both well-dressed, standing directly in front of the bench she was just sitting on. She wasn't exactly well-concealed in the bushes, but then again, they had to be looking. Thankfully, neither one did.

There was a pause, then a small pin-prick of light. Anna realized one of the men was smoking. And, by the stench of it, it was unfiltered.

"It worked out as we planned."

"I thought Mulder was supposed to be on our side in exchange for the cure."

Another drag. "Unfortunately, he figured it out on his own. But, as you well know, the X-Files has been shut down. Tragic incident. It seems all the files caught on fire, destroying most of them."

"See that it stays that way."

Anna couldn't get a good look at their faces in the dark, and she didn't dare move. They were staying just out of the glow from the nearby lamp post. Their conversation made goose bumps rise on her skin, and she resisted the urge to rub her arms as she peered through the leaves.

Another puff. Anna could see the smoke circling his darkened face. She quietly unhooked the flash from her camera.

"We still have our contact at the FBI. He'll work with us."

"He better."

"He'll have no choice. We'll make sure of it."

Anna didn't know why she did it, but before they parted ways, she put the view finder to her eyes and snapped the rest of the film, hoping maybe one of them would come out enough in the dark without the flash.

They were devious enough to meet at night in an unlit place, and they just might be devious enough to see if someone was eavesdropping on their conversation. So, long after they parted ways, both going in separate directions, she stayed huddled in the bushes, cold fingers of fear licking at her spine as her legs went to sleep from disuse.

* * *

She cursed, and Nero raised his head, then lowered it back to his paws, returning to his nap.

The photos hadn't come out clearly. In one, the camera was focused on a leaf in front of the lens, so nothing behind it was visible.

Only one photo looked hopeful. She had caught the man mid-puff, and the scant glow from the cigarette illuminated his face weakly.

All she could tell about the other was he had a head full of white hair.

Well, that narrowed it down to several thousand men in the area, didn't it?

When she left her darkroom, it was almost dawn, and she fell into bed, hoping to get some sleep. First, she set her alarm. She wanted to call him first thing. He had to know about this.

Sleep came, but with it, whispered threats and veiled implications from unseen voices haunted her.

When her alarm woke her at 9 a.m., she was glad to be saved from such disturbing images.

Grabbing the phone by her bed, she dialed a number she'd never used, but memorized just the same.

* * *

"Skinner." He answered it without looking at the caller ID, barely registering that it was his direct line, not the line from his assistant.

There was a pause. "Hi."

It was amazing that just the sound of her quiet voice could make him the way it did – just that much lighter, carefree. It didn't hit him until a moment later that this was the first time she'd called him. He immediately thought of her scared face as she stood on the steps of her front porch. "Is anything wrong?"

* * *

Anna was glad to hear his tone change to a more pleasant one, tinged with just a bit of worry. She thought about him sitting at his desk, papers scattered about and allowed herself a small smile before continuing. "No, nothing's wrong . . . well, maybe."

She could hear his chair squeaking slightly in the background as he shifted. "Aaron didn't come back, did he?" his voice was almost a whisper, and she almost asked him why he would whisper in his own office.

"Uh . . . no. He didn't." She bit her tongue before she could say that was almost a week ago, and if he were that concerned he could have called her.

But, that's not why she called.

"Listen, I heard a . . .disturbing conversation last night. At the Jefferson Memorial."

"Really?"

"Two names were mentioned. Mulder and Scullly. And some unnamed mole at the FBI."

* * *

He felt his heart drop, and he clutched the phone just that much tighter.

"Was someone following you?" Those bastards! If they so much as hurt one hair on her head . . .

"No. No, not at all. You see, I was in the bushes."

"The bushes?"

She sighed. "My battery for my flash rolled into the bushes. I went after it."

"Did they see you?" He allowed a hint of panic to creep into his voice, his stomach physically hurting at the thought.

"I don't think so. I waited a long time even after they were gone to creep out of the shrubbery. Oh, and I have a picture. It's not very good, but I had to take it without a flash."

He rubbed his hand over his head wearily, wanting to know what she heard. But over the phone was a bad idea.

Especially if they were talking about a mole.

He was afraid he knew exactly who they were talking about.

Flipping to his calendar, he studied it for a moment. "Can you come by here around 2?" He didn't want to send her to Kersh. He would keep his hand in this, if anything, to try his best to steer her away from it.

"What about Mulder and Scully?"

"I'll make sure they'll be here."

When he hung up the phone, he felt nothing but dread in the pit of his stomach as he stared at it for a moment.

Always one to be in control, he could feel it slipping out of his fingers even more than before.


	15. Chapter 15

Anna was surprised how relatively easy it was to just walk into the Hoover building. Security was light and before she knew it, she was sitting in Walter's office, his secretary giving her curious glances.

Anna nervously smoothed her skirt. She'd gone shopping last week. Not necessarily for this visit. But, most of her clothes were several years old, and she didn't exactly own the kind of clothing that was acceptable in these sorts of situations. The black skirt was simply cut, but she liked the way it swayed about her hips when she walked. With the fitted white, button-down blouse she wore, apparently several other admirers liked the way she looked, too, earning several catcalls as she strode on the sidewalk.

It had been a long time since she'd felt pretty enough to enjoy the attention.

In a way, it was a relief to know she wouldn't mourn forever.

Mulder and Scully strode in after she'd only waited a few minutes.

Anna made sure to give Scully a quick hug. "You're looking great!" And, she wasn't lying. It truly was amazing that her recovery was so swift.

Anna tried to figure out why Scully suddenly took a turn for the better, and the answers she could come up with, coupled with the veiled comments she kept hearing from them all, made her uneasy.

Mulder pretended to be put out for a moment. "Don't I get a hug?"

Anna cocked her head, feeling brave. "I don't generally hug strange men. You gotta earn a hug, you know."

Apparently, her new-found self confidence included the ability to _attempt_ to flirt.

"Yeah, Mulder. You gotta earn it," Scully added with a smile.

He laughed and hugged her anyway, and when he released her, Anna could tell by the way he looked at his partner that no one was as happy to have her back as he was.

* * *

To say he was annoyed was an understatement.

The three of them – laughing for God's sakes! And, when Mulder gave her a quick hug, Skinner thought his blood pressure would shoot through the roof.

He cleared his throat from the doorway, annoyed at himself more than anything.

"Oh, sorry, sir. Didn't know you were waiting," Scully said, noting his irritation and assuming it was for the delay.

He didn't say anything, just stepped aside for the trio to make their way inside.

Anna's scent didn't fail to escape him, neither did the questioning glance she gave him as she brushed by.

It made him feel . . . mushy inside.

Skinner shook his head at his own foolishness.

He really needed to get a grip.

* * *

Mulder motioned for her to sit in one of the two chairs directly in front of Walter's desk, and she obliged, arranging her skirt over her knees. Scully took the other chair, and Anna figured Mulder was lounging somewhere behind them.

Anna took a moment to study the office. Very masculine – from the dark wood furniture to the bookshelves along the wall on her side. There were a few items that she would have loved to get a closer look at some other time. The one thing that was missing was any personnel touches. Except for the lighted American flag safely ensconced in a shadow box.

She wondered why it was so special, but didn't dare ask. She was nervous enough as it was.

After instructions to his assistant to hold his calls, Skinner settled in his chair across from them, his hands folded on the neat surface. Anna could see the displeasure in the set of his shoulders and in the look on this face. He was annoyed from the time they all walked in.

Then again, this was his turf. All their other interactions were on hers. And, she expected him to be nothing more than professional. Maybe this was his professional face.

Although callous apparently was more like it.

He got right to the point. "Mrs. Greensburg has brought to my attention something that concerns you both, as well as the Bureau."

_Mrs. Greensburg? _Anna wondered about the formality, suddenly feeling foolish and very-unpretty. And very old.

Everyone was looking at her expectantly, so she told the story from the beginning, pressing her hands in her lap, not wanting her nervousness to show.

Although she was telling it to all of them, she spoke mostly to Walter, mainly because he was in her direct line of vision. And because she wanted to see what his reaction was.

He was stoic until the end, sharing a glance with the other two agents only when she mentioned the cigarette smoke.

* * *

By the time she pulled the photo out of the manila envelope, Skinner already knew who at least one of the men was from her brief description. Studying the photo, although he could just barely make it out, it was definitely him.

The sorry son of a _bitch_!

Skinner studied the unknown man, who had his back to the camera, but nothing much was visible. For selfish reasons, he wished momentarily that she could have used a flash.

But, then, they wouldn't be sitting here having this conversation.

Mulder's question brought him out of his revelry. "Do you think if you heard the voices again, you might be able to tell us who they were?"

Anna thought for a moment. "I don't know, honestly. The one who was smoking was sort of raspy, without an accent. But, the other one had a bit of a Northeast twang." She shrugged helplessly, wishing she could be of more help.

During a lull, she asked a question that had been plaguing her. "What is this X-Files he's talking about? The ones that burned?" She looked at Walter, then to Scully, but neither one answered.

From behind her, Mulder finally did. "Unsolved cases that have no plausible answers. Scully and I have been working these cases for several years now."

Her mind was running overtime. "But . . . if they're so hard to solve, why does it matter? Why do these two men care one way or the other?" She turned to look at Mulder, who was staring at her, arms crossed.

"They don't want them to be solved." His tone was matter-of-fact.

"That's enough, Agent Mulder," Skinner warned, his tone threatening.

Anna turned back around and caught his warning glare towards his agent, feeling chastised enough for bringing it up.

Scully took the photo from her and studied it. She, too, knew who one of the men were. "Do you think this could be enhanced?" She looked at Anna.

"I just don't have that sort of equipment to deal with it."

"Why don't we go see your friend in the computer department?" Mulder asked. "You two seemed to get along so well."

Scully made a face. He was always teasing her about the so-called admiring glances she received from other male members of the staff. She rose, photo in hand. "Do you mind if we keep this?"

"Sure."

"Sir, if you don't mind, we'll take this downstairs. We'll let you know what we find out." Although she knew it would be a big fat zilch. They were only fed information from these dark forces at work as they saw fit. But, it was worth a shot.

Mulder held the door for her as they walked through, studying the photo over her shoulder.

"We already know who her chain-smoking friend is," Anna distinctly heard him say.

The door shut behind them, leaving her and Walter alone.

He scrutinized her from across his desk.

Anna met his gaze evenly. "Those men were so . . . so vague. But, I thought you just might want to know just the same."

He nodded curtly, he cheery sunlight from the window behind him framing him in light.

Anna couldn't figure him out. Sure, he was being professional, but she was beginning to squirm under his scrutiny. Rising from her chair, she caught the empty envelope that was in her lap before it slid to the floor. "Thank you for your time, _Mr_. Skinner." She emphasized the Mr. If he could be proper, she could match it, word for word.

He stood, sighing, her choice of words not lost on him. "Anna? Do me a favor."

At least he was back to using her first name. And, he had lost some of the irritation that had been on his face since they all walked into his office.

He put both hands flat on the desktop, leaning forward. "Don't go traipsing around DC after dark. It's not safe."

She blinked, not expecting such a comment. "My . . . interaction with these men has shaken me up a bit, I admit."

"Anymore 'interaction' with these men will get you killed." His eyes bored into hers.

She was right. The three of them knew more than she did, that was for sure.

She couldn't help but wonder if all of it was tied together – Scully's cancer, his drunken half-confession, all of it.

Wanting to ask him, but figuring he wouldn't give her a straight answer, she shifted her weight from her always-aching leg, her gaze never leaving his grave face.

"I appreciate your concern, Walter. I really do. But, you can't protect everyone all the time." Lord knows she needed protecting, but not from any physical harm. More from the memories of her life that was snatched from her.

He stood up straight and saw her to the door, her perfume once again drifting around him. After a perfunctory good-bye, he watched her walk out of his office and down the hall before returning to his desk.

He picked up a pen, determined to get back to work, but slammed it down in frustration, rubbing his hands over his face.

She was right. He couldn't protect everyone all the time.

But, he sure as hell could try.

* * *

Anna wasn't gone from his office for 30 minutes before his phone started ringing.

Kersh had found out she was there. And, he was livid.

After all, Mulder and Scully were under his control now, a fact he seemed to glean some perverted pleasure from.

Skinner didn't trust him. He might be all Bureau, all the way, or he could be as involved with this mess as the worst of them. He didn't know.

And, he didn't like not knowing.

After trying to explain that he knew the contact personally, it still did not satisfy Kersh. He wanted her back in here ASAP. To see him, not anyone else.

Skinner slammed the phone down with more force than necessary.

Why did she have to go waltzing around DC at night and stumble on this?

It wasn't her fault. It was just bad timing. Fate. Karma. Whatever you wanted to call it.

He tried to talk himself out of such thoughts, frustrated beyond belief as he hunted down his former two agents, wanting to get their take on Kersh before he let Anna walk into the lion's den.

She sure wasn't going to do it alone.

* * *

Anna's cell phone rang as she was driving to work, trying not to mull over her meeting from a few hours earlier. She didn't recognize the number on the caller ID, but answered it anyway.

"Hello?"

"Anna, it's Fox Mulder."

"Oh, hi! Didn't expect to hear from you so soon. Did you find anything out on the picture?"

She could almost hear his frustration through the receiver as she maneuvered through thick traffic. "Nothing we didn't already know."

"I sorta figured as much."

"Listen, your presence has been requested at the Bureau tomorrow."

Her eyes narrowed.

Couldn't Walter at least have called her himself?

"Tomorrow? Why?"

"Assistant Director Kersh did not like being left out of the loop." And he was putting it mildly. He'd threatened both of them with demotion for not keeping him informed. But, investigating farmers for fertilizer purchases was about as demoted as it got.

"I thought you answered to Walter."

"Not anymore. There's another agent on the X-Files. He answers to Skinner. We don't."

Just peachy. She'd ignored protocol.

But, hey, she didn't even know what protocol was!

"I had no idea or I might not have gone to Walter to begin with."

"It's not your fault, and Kersh knows it. We're the ones in hot water. Plus, since Skinner has a file on his desk about two inches thick with your name on it, we just assumed you knew the story."

Anna almost slammed on brakes in the middle of the freeway.

A _file_? He had a _file_ on her?

But, Mulder kept talking. "Is 10 a.m. good for you?"

"What?" Anna tore her train of thought back to the conversation. "Oh, yeah. 10 a.m. I'll be there."

He told her where Kersh's office was and left it at that.

Anna pushed the 'end' button on her phone, her mind in a whirl.

A _file_?

* * *

Anna knew what he found. The news reports. The commentary. The police records. The lawsuits that followed. Probably even the doctor's reports about her addiction she'd tried so hard to put behind her.

The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. He had _no_ right! _None_!

Good thing she wasn't seeing _him_ the next day.

As night faded into day, some of her anger subsided. Who was she kidding? She wanted to be treated for who she was today, not what happened to her in the past. Maybe she could have told him, offered up that part of her before he felt he had to go sneaking around.

But, no! She was forever taking the blame for other people's problems. She wasn't taking the blame for this.

She should confront him, but confrontation wasn't something she did well.

Trying to push it out of her mind, she rose early for her run, the regular pounding of her sneakers on the sidewalk soothing to her troubled spirit.

Betrayed. Hurt and betrayed. That's what it was. He'd snuck around behind her back. Did he expect to find something truly awful? Did he distrust her?

More questions that went unanswered. And probably would go unanswered at the rate they were going.

It was a trade off of emotions. Deep down inside, she knew she was probably focusing all her anger on Walter for a reason. To deflect.

Today was May 14.

Today, her son would have been five years old. Starting school. Playing T-ball with his classmates and friends. Being a normal little boy getting into normal little boy things.

Sometimes the pain was so fresh, it was like she had buried him yesterday. Today would be one of those days, she could already tell.

When she walked into the Bureau the next morning, her anger had slowed to a simmer. She'd get in, tell her story again and get out. The end. No more. She'd wash her hands of the whole bit.

And if for some reason Walter Skinner decided to grace the inside of _Gordo's_ again, she'd dump a pitcher of beer in his lap.

Gordo would have a _fit_!

Despite her frustration, that made her smile to herself.

It was still going to be a long day.


	16. Chapter 16

AD Kersh's office was laid out similarly to Walter's, and she was ushered right in. Kersh was a rather dour-looking fellow, and Anna wisely didn't make small talk after she declined coffee. She didn't plan for this to take long. She had to work the lunch shift anyway and didn't have time to dally.

"Now, Mrs. Greensburg, I apologize for your return visit, but I was not informed of your visit until after the fact." He said this is a tone that said he most certainly didn't appreciate it. "If you don't mind, fill me in."

Anna had just opened her mouth, ready to recount her story one more time, hopefully the last one, when the door opened.

* * *

Skinner and Kersh had almost come to blows, but Skinner would not back down.

He _would_ be present when Anna was there.

Arguing that it was Bureau policy to have more than one official present, knowing it was a bunch of bull, he had just narrowly gotten Kersh's approval.

He didn't know why he and the man didn't see eye-to-eye, but Skinner hoped like hell he wasn't as much of a hard nose as Kersh.

So, it figured Kersh had gotten started without him. That much he expected.

But, what he did not expect was the narrow glare Anna gave him when he walked through the door, her green eyes flashing with something he'd never seen from her before.

* * *

Anna couldn't help it. The moment he entered Kersh's office, all the hurt she felt over what Mulder had told her in passing came rushing back, threatening to spill forth from her mouth.

He looked slightly taken aback at her glare.

_Good. Maybe he'll back off, and I won't have to scratch his eyes out._

Not usually prone to such violent thoughts, she made doubly-sure that her gaze had returned to normal by the time she faced Kersh to resume her story.

She knew what the anger was doing. It was helping her hide the pain of what Walter had done.

She wanted to open her mouth and ask what in the hell was he doing here, but decided against it. This Kersh looked like he wouldn't put up with much nonsense.

Neither one of the men greeted each other. Walter didn't settle in the empty chair next to her, but rather leaned against a small conference table behind her. Although she couldn't see him, she could feel his presence, his eyes watching her as she reviewed the events once again.

"Where's this photo you mentioned?" Kersh asked after she was finished.

Anna opened her mouth to reply, but Skinner answered first from behind her. "Agents Mulder and Scully have it. They took it downstairs for examination."

Kersh's perpetual frown deepened. "They have not mentioned anything to me about a photo."

"Since the threat Mrs. Greensburg overheard was made against them, I believe they have every right to have it in their possession, exhausting any avenues they may see fit."

Kersh glared at Skinner over her shoulder. "I believe what _my_ agents do or do not do is none of your concern, Assistant Director Skinner."

"I believe it is the entire Bureau's concern."

Anna could feel it in the air, figuring whoever made up the saying, 'cut the tension with a knife' was in exactly this kind of situation. Her eyes stayed straight ahead as she sat as still as possible so as to not get caught in the crossfire.

Kersh continued to spar. "If you are referring to this alleged spy on staff, I believe you do not have anything to worry about."

"It's happened before."

Kersh knew about Alex Krychek. "Under your watch, if I'm not mistaken."

Anna held her breath. Another question. Another puzzle piece. She could feel the anger in waves rolling from behind her, catching his reflection in a glass bookcase as he and Kersh glared at each other.

She wished she were anywhere but here.

Kersh stood up. "Besides, according to your former agent's theory, you can trust no one. How do you know we can even trust Mrs. Greensburg? Maybe she's feeding us information from these so called informants?"

Anna's mouth dropped open in shock.

Skinner had enough. Accusing him of not doing his job was one thing, but accusing Anna of lying was a whole new ballgame.

He was face-to-face with Kersh before he realized what he had done, his voice menacing. "Don't drag her into this, Kersh."

Kersh raised his eyebrow questioningly. "Drag her into it, Assistant Director Skinner? It seems to me she's drug her own self into it."

_Pompous bastard._

For one brief moment, Skinner wanted to grab the man by the collar and toss him out the window.

"Excuse me!" Her voice cut through his rage. "There's no need to talk about me like I'm not here!"

Anna could tell there was bad blood between the two men. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that one out.

But, she was doing what she thought was the right thing. And being made to feel like a . . . a common criminal to boot!

How dare they!

Both men looked at her, almost as if they had forgotten she was there. With her hands on her hips, she definitely did not look happy.

"Mrs. Greensburg . . ." Kersh started, holding up a hand to calm her.

Anna stood, barely holding onto her last vestiges of calm. "_You_ listen to _me_, Mr. Kersh. I came here, by your own request, not my own, if you remember, to do my duty to people I knew might be in harm's way. You can choose to do with this information as you see fit. But, I _will_ _not_," she made sure she emphasized those words, "stand here and be insulted just because the two of you are in some sort of turf war. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get to work." She started to turn around, but stopped. "You know, a job? Because I imagine if I was getting money to lie to you, I wouldn't be working as a waitress."

She didn't wait for a reply. Head held high, she stalked to the door, throwing it open to the surprise of Kersh's secretary, wanting to get as far away from this place as fast as she could.

Kersh and Skinner stared at each other.

"You really need to work on your people skills, Assistant Director Kersh," Skinner said sarcastically.

"And you need to stay out of my agents' business. Or you'll wish you had."

With one last glare, Skinner brushed by Kersh, following Anna out the door.

He caught up with her as she pushed the elevator button repeatedly at the end of the hall.

"Anna-"

She pushed the button again impatiently, not looking at him. "Leave me alone." Her voice was clipped.

"You shouldn't have seen any of that."

She gave a strange laugh, cursing the tears that threatened. She didn't want to cry. Not in front of him. "Is that _all_ you want to apologize for?"

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Her mouth compressed in a thin line. Whirling around, she stalked away. "Where's the damn stairs?"

He raced to catch up with her, confused. "Anna, what is _wrong_?" He grabbed her gently by the arm to get her to listen, shocked when she yanked it out of his grip.

But, at least she stopped, glaring up at him in the middle of the hallway. Her stance earned them more than a few curious glances from people milling about.

Skinner hated to air personal business in public, enjoying his privacy immensely. He risked taking her arm again. "Let's go to my office."

She stepped away from him, out of his reach. "You can't boss me around!"

His voice rose louder than he wanted it to. "For God's sakes, Anna-"

"Don't you 'for God's sakes, Anna' me!" She pointed down the hallway back towards Kersh's office. "I was just accused of being a . . . a spy! A common criminal!"

"That was more directed at me and my judgment. It had nothing to do with you."

She didn't look like she believed him. "Well, I guess you already _knew_ I wasn't some sort of double agent, didn't you? It didn't come up in the _file_ you have on me on your desk." She crossed her arms, glaring at him.

His mind raced, trying to figure out what was going on.

Anna frowned, those damned green eyes of hers tearing up. "Do you treat everyone you know with such respect by investigating them in your off time? A hobby, perhaps?"

_Oh . . . shit._

"How did you find out?" he blurted out.

She stared at him incredulously. "Is that all you're worried about? Getting _caught_? Jeez!" She threw up her hands "I don't know what hurts worse – being accused of spying or having someone spy on _me_!"

By now, they had drawn a small crowd, and even Anna was realizing this though her anger.

"Let's continue this conversation in my office," he hissed.

She wanted to tell him to take a flying leap, but a little mortified they were attracting attention, she allowed herself to be led into the elevator, trying the entire time not to burst into tears.

_C'mon Anna. You're stronger than this. All you have to do is get out of here and get to work. You can break down later. Not here._

She kept up her mental pep talk the short trip to his office, jumping away as if she had been scalded when he put his hand on her back to lead her down the hallway, gleaning satisfaction from his annoyed sigh.

He took her through a different door than she had used the day before - probably to avoid his assistant - but they were in his office just the same.

She stalked to the middle of the room, arms crossed protectively and stared at the other wall.

He rifled through a drawer and came up with a file in his hand. "Here."

She stared at it as if it were a snake that would strike. "You don't get it, do you?"

"Get what?"

Her eyes moved to him, her expression wounded. But, carefully, she took the file, thumbing through it. The front page story from her hometown newspaper, complete with the picture of her crumpled car stared back at her. She tossed it aside on a nearby table, some of the paper sliding out of it.

She could feel his eyes on her, waiting. Her voice was quiet, controlled as she began to speak. "You spend your entire life searching for clues. For hidden answers. For the truth. I guess you've run across people who've hurt you, who've made you into . . . into . . ." she pointed at the file for emphasis, "into investigating everyone that comes across you're path like you would a convict!"

"That's not why I did it."

Her eyes met his once again. "Then, _why_?" Her voice pled with him.

He looked away, running a hand over his head nervously. "I guess I wanted to know about . . . you. The accident with your husband. The money." He met her eyes. "You never told me about your son."

_Scott. _

_He would have been five today._

This time, a tear did spill over. "I don't want your pity."

"I saw his picture on your nightstand. I would have figured it out without the file." He sounded harsh, he knew. But, it was all he knew how to be.

Her green eyes flashed with anger, despite being filled with tears.

_God, she was beautiful._

That thought came out of the blue, flooring him.

He took a deep breath, ignoring it. "You didn't tell me you were . . . there."

It was probably the fact that she didn't know just how much he actually knew, just how much he read between the lines. But, she had to get out of here.

Now.

She turned and practically tripped over her own feet getting to the door they had just entered.

Her hand was on the knob, so close to freedom, when he put his hand on the door, leaning on it, keeping her from opening it.

He couldn't let her go. Not like this.

Anna stared at him, wide-eyed, incredulously. "Are you keeping me hostage?"

His hand remained on the door. "I don't understand why you didn't tell me . . ."

She snorted, very unladylike. "This coming from a man who refuses to share anything about himself without dragging it out of you like some sort of bizarre torture!"

"That's . . . different."

She laughed harshly. "Is it really?" She shifted uncomfortably, her eyes never leaving his face. "So, what did your file leave out?" She was losing it, she knew, but she'd had too many shocks to her system today. She poked him in the chest with her finger. "Did your file tell you that I was awake? That I remember it all? Every last damned bit of it? The crunching of metal? The squealing tires?"

She paused to take a breath. He didn't comment, and she really didn't expect him to. But, her voice was surprisingly calm when she continued. "Did your file tell you that I laid there, my body broken and twisted and watched my husband die? I watched the life go out of his eyes as our baby screamed from the backseat? My baby . . ." Her voice broke, but she steeled herself. "I could do nothing for him. I couldn't see him. I couldn't touch him. I tried to talk to him. Slowly, his cries stopped." The tears fell this time, in earnest. "When the paramedics cut him out, he was gone. His . . . his arm had been severed. He'd bled to death. And I . . . could . . . do . . . _nothing_!"

His heart was breaking just watching her. She was tearing away the layers that kept her sane, helped her to function on a day-to-day basis. All because he wanted to know. He reached out to touch her, realizing his mistake. Realizing what he'd done. "Anna, you don't have to do this . . ."

She shied away, glaring at him with tear-filled eyes. "Did your file tell you that I wanted to die? That I begged the doctors and the nurses and my parents to kill me? To make it all go away?" She paused, gathering her thoughts. "Not only had I lost my son and husband, but I lost an unborn child, too."

He flinched, but she kept going, her voice getting louder. He wanted to know, damn him, so he'd _know_! "Your _file_ didn't tell you that, did it?" She didn't wait for an answer. "Did your stupid file tell you that I kept myself in a drug-induced fog for months? I broke all contact with friends and family. Refused to see even my sisters because they still had their husbands and their babies. Sat by myself in my sad little house and popped pills?" She motioned towards the papers scattered along the table. "I bet your _file_ didn't tell you that, now, did it?"

At least he had the decency to look uncomfortable. Not with that damn look of pity she was so used to getting. As if anyone understood her heartache!

Ha!

"I- I had no idea." It sounded lame, he knew.

"You know why you had no idea? Because _you didn't ask_! Now, _let me go_!"

He could take anyone else's anger, shrug it off, but coming from her, it seared him to the core.

Not only had he hurt her, but he'd hurt her on top of everything else she had gone through.

And damn, if he didn't know how to fix any of it.

So, he did what she wanted. He removed his weight from the door.

And let her go.

With one last glare, she flounced out.

He stood rooted to the spot after she'd slammed it behind her, thinking about what she'd said.

He should have asked her. He knew he should. But, it seemed too personal and connecting with anyone on such a personal level was difficult for him, to say the least.

She was right. Those things she said were what he was searching for, what truly made her what she was, not the words and dry facts on some old newspaper clippings.

Feeling every one of his 48 years, he made his way to the table, gathering the scattered papers, ready to shred every last one of them.

His eyes fell on the death certificate for her son.

_Date of birth: May 14, 1995_ stared back at him.

He glanced at his watch to confirm what he was afraid of.

Settling wearily in a chair nearby and taking off his glasses, he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Today was her son's birthday.

* * *

Now THAT'S enough to make someone feel lower than dog doo, isn't it? Ciao for now!


	17. Chapter 17

Anna didn't know how she did it, but she made it through the day. It took all she could to be polite to the customers, so she had nothing left for her co-workers but sharp retorts.

Glad she was working the lunch shift, so she could spend the rest of the miserable day hiding alone in her house with her dog and her memories, she methodically did what was expected of her. Brought drinks. Bussed tables. Took orders. Told specials.

Gordo knew. Afraid she would not be able to handle the stress of a new job in an unfamiliar place, she had been up front with him about the accident and its aftermath when he hired her. Although it had been a year since she'd given up the pills, at times, she still craved them so badly, she physically hurt. That was at first. Not so much anymore.

Except for maybe today.

Gordo had dismissed her concerns, and they'd taken it on a day-by-day basis. As time went by, her nervousness wore off, and she never even thought about taking advantage of Gordo's pronouncement that she was more than welcome to take time off if she felt it was getting to her. On the contrary, her job and her hobby, along with some volunteer work to keep her 'out in the world' as her grandmother put it, kept her sane.

If she hadn't found out about that damn file of his, she might still be able to handle this day.

Scratch that. If she hadn't even met Walter Skinner, she'd still be chugging along. Unhurt. Unscathed.

Betrayal on top of her sorrow was a hard row to hoe.

Anna wasn't quite sure just why she felt deceived. Maybe it was because, despite the fact they hadn't spent a huge amount of time together, she felt close to him, drawn to him. Probably for the only fact that he seemed to be everything she was not – brave, self-sufficient. If anything, she felt like most of the time she was floundering around making a mess of things.

She hadn't always felt like this. Her place in the grand scheme of things had been tragically altered, and she was trying oh so hard to figure out exactly what she wanted to do with her life. But, she couldn't find it within herself to continue on that path with someone else.

Especially someone who didn't trust her.

* * *

Skinner was miserable the rest of the day. Sitting through another endless meeting was excruciatingly painful to his psyche when all he could do was replay over and over their conversation in his head.

Of course, no one could tell. He kept people at arm's length as it were. Only Agent Scully gave him a funny look after a sarcastic comment he made about background checks and prying into other people's lives.

She'd put two and two together, especially if Mulder had blabbed to her about the file, too.

He couldn't much blame Mulder. After all, he was the one with file, wasn't he?

And just why didn't he ask her about the accident? How it affected her? What she felt?

Because it wasn't his first instinct. His first instinct was to know all he could about someone. In a way, it gave him the upper hand in some sort of twisted sense. It seemed in poor taste to grill her on such topics. And, couldn't she have offered to tell him, opened up a little more herself?

And just why did she _have_ to be more open with him? A few months ago, she was just a nameless waitress he appreciated for her competent manner and efficiency. He doubted seriously they could return to such a relationship. She'd probably have him thrown out of the restaurant, and he could see the man that owned the place gladly complying.

He would have left her alone except for the one fact that he knew what today meant to her. He could not stomach the thought of her going through it alone. She'd gone through enough alone.

The thought did cross his mind that she might not like it. Maybe she did want to protect her privacy.

And just what made him think she'd want to share it with him?

He battled back and forth with his decision until the end of the day.

When he drove out of the FBI lot, he knew just what he had to do.

* * *

"Hey, Anna! Can you take the trash out before you go?"

"Sure, Gordo. No problem," she answered with a lack of enthusiasm.

He didn't lumber on back to his office like he usually did. Instead he stopped and looked at her. "You gonna be OK?"

She slammed an empty bottle of vodka into the trash, making sure to mark it off the clipboard. Gordo kept immaculate records, if anything. "I'll be fine."

He huffed into his mustache and trundled into the kitchen, leaving her to re-stock the bar for the evening crowd.

Anna let out the breath she was holding. She didn't want sympathy. It would just make her break down in tears. She couldn't do that here.

Her head was killing her, and she just wanted to pop a few aspirin and climb under the covers. It was raining again, thunder booming in the distance, so her drive home to relative safety would be hell.

Not safety. Hiding. Hiding was more like it. Plus, she'd have to put the phone off the hook. Her family had been calling all day, she knew, and her answering machine was probably full.

Hell, she tried so hard not to be miserable all the time, if she wanted to feel sorry for herself one day out of the year, she would.

Even though she knew feeling sorry for herself wouldn't bring them back.

Huffing a strand of hair out of her face – thanks to her new hair cut, it wouldn't fit in her ponytail, shorter strands constantly curling around her cheeks – she was just finishing up when the bell sounded, announcing a customer.

She glanced up, making sure the hostess was at her post.

The hostess was there, alright, smiling brightly.

But who she was smiling at made Anna's heart drop to her toes.

And just like that, the grip she thought she had on her churning emotions loosened and sat like a lump of lead in her throat.

She thought about bolting, but he'd surely see her as he searched the restaurant. Then, she'd just look like a scared rabbit.

And, dammit, she wasn't scared! Emotionally exhausted, maybe, but not afraid.

So, she just stood there, clutching an empty bottle of booze in her hand, until his gaze fell on her. His eyes softened for just a moment, and she felt a sob in her throat.

_Not here, Anna, not here._

Blindly, she raced through the kitchen doors, shoving them open so hard, they hit the refrigerator with a loud whack. He wouldn't follow her back here. No one was allowed back here but employees. She'd sic the kitchen help on him if he did.

_Trash. She had to take out the trash_. Then, she was free. Free to be as miserable as she wanted.

She snatched up the heavy bags and lugged them towards the back door, slamming through it into the steady summer rain.

Hell, she might just not come back inside at all. Her keys were in her pocket. She'd just sneak out the back door and be done with it. Claim she forgot to clock out. Happened all the time.

That's it. She'd run.

Just like a scared rabbit.

She couldn't face him today. Maybe another day when she wasn't feeling so vulnerable.

But, not today.

* * *

Skinner knew she was going to bolt the minute he laid eyes on her. As angry as she was at him when she left his office, he figured he might have that problem on his hands.

Automatically, he followed her, right through the kitchen, receiving shocked glances from the kitchen staff at his unexpected intrusion.

He ignored them all, catching sight of her disappearing out the back door.

He caught up with her at the dumpster as she was wrestling two cumbersome bags of trash. It was still raining, and she had no protection against it, her shirt quickly plastering itself to her skin.

She hadn't seen him standing underneath the shelter of the tattered awning at the back door.

Briefly, he thought about helping her, but he figured she'd toss him in the trash, too.

As the lid slammed shut on the dumpster, she turned around, eyes widening when she spotted him.

He knew he had to act fast.

At least the rain seemed to be slacking off as he waylaid her before she could brush by him towards the street and her car, his fingers wrapping around her arm gently, but firmly.

She tried to jerk out of his grasp as she whirled around to face him. "What do you _want _from me?"

He was close enough to see the tears mingle freely with the rain drops on her face. He had no clue what he was going to say, no planned, rehearsed speech ready in the wings. "Your forgiveness."

"Forgiveness?" She said it as if it were a disease. "Forgiveness doesn't change the fact that you don't trust me enough to ask me simple questions about my past. Or tell me about yourself. Forgiveness doesn't just make it all go away."

Her tone was bitter. He couldn't blame her.

He had to speak the truth. No use hiding from it now. "Today's his birthday. I know."

He could tell it was not what she was expecting. The fight seemed to seep away, although the hurt remained. He knew it was a pain that went even beyond anything he could do to her or for her, her green eyes brimming as they stared into his own.

"I never asked for your pity." Her chin trembled just a bit as she said it before she clenched her jaw, the muscles moving in her face as she tried to control her emotions.

He didn't know why he did it. Standing in the rain in an alley way reeking of trash and God knows what didn't seem like the place.

* * *

When his lips met hers, she was shocked. Not only had he come all the way out here just to apologize after she thought she didn't want to see him again, but now, here she was, wrapping her arms around his neck, accepting the embrace as if . . . as if she actually were enjoying it!

And, she was.

Just like everything else about him, his kiss was no-nonsense and to-the-point. However, it was strangely arousing, and the flood of emotion that followed that realization had her holding onto him for dear life at this new reaction.

But . . .how could she be feeling so . . . so alive, even just for a moment, today of all days?

She broke away first. Not risking looking at him, she carefully stepped around him and returned to the restaurant, letting the door softly close behind her.

This time, he didn't follow.

* * *

Anna felt like she was in a trance. She clocked out and headed home, not daring to look around for his car. Before she left, she'd busied herself with drying off, ignoring her wet dog appearance, but thankfully, he hadn't followed her back through the kitchen.

He'd kissed her.

And, hell, she'd liked it! _More_ than liked it! Even in their earlier days of dating, Allen never garnered that sort of reaction from her, as if something inside of her was awakening, something that was almost . . . almost . . .

Words escaped her as she drove home, only needing her windshield wipers occasionally in the dwindling rain shower.

_What were you thinking, girl?_ She could almost hear her grandmother's voice.

Somehow, she doubted her grandmother would disapprove. On the contrary, she would probably embrace her return to 'the real world.' Away from her sorrow. Her pain that she'd carried for over a year.

The thing was, she didn't know if she was ready to let it go. It was comforting, predictable. She understood how it affected her and could deal with it in her own way.

But, not this. This was different, unpredictable, impulsive.

And, it was the last thing she expected him to do. To kiss her like that.

But deep inside, she wondered if it was what she wanted him to do all along.

That's why she had to get away from him. It scared her. She hadn't expected to be so drawn to him, and now, she didn't know what to do.

And it was a damn sight better than pity, that's for sure.

Pity. Because of her accident.

It hit her again. The pain. The loss.

She had to put the back of her hand against her lips to keep from sobbing aloud as she drove through the rain. It was as if a pendulum was swinging in her head, going from one extreme emotion to the next.

She never walked around feeling sorry for herself, but today, she would.

Tomorrow, she'd deal with Walter Skinner.

But, you know what they say – the best laid plans of mice and men . . .

For some reason, she wasn't surprised to see the government-issue sedan parked on the curb in front of her house. She also wasn't surprised to see him sitting on her front porch steps, the rain dripping off the eaves as he waited on her to arrive.

If anything, it pissed her off that he would know a shortcut to her house she didn't even know about!

* * *

No, she didn't want his pity. But, that's not what he had to offer.

He had waylaid her at work to keep her from having to deal with today on her own, and he knew after he kissed her that nothing was going to keep him from it.

He had taken her off her guard at first. Hell, he'd surprised himself!

But, what he didn't expect was the pure sense of need that rose in him, when for one brief moment, she pressed against him. He knew she'd felt the same in that swift second.

That was something to deal with later. First things first, he wanted to make sure she understood he was there for her. And that was a damn sight harder than he thought it was going to be.

He watched her pause before she turned into her driveway, her engine idling. For a moment, he wondered if she'd back out and keep going. He couldn't see her face through the rain-streaked windshield, although he tried.

Instead, she turned off the ignition. Gathering her things from the backseat, she opened the door, slamming it with more force than necessary.

She wouldn't meet his eyes as she walked to the door. Briefly, he wondered if she'd even acknowledge him, let alone ask him inside.

He was wrong. Hell, it was known to happen before.

She unlocked the door.

"You don't have to do this, you know." Her voice was soft. She still wouldn't look at him.

He wanted to touch her, but didn't dare. "I want to."

Absently petting Nero on the head as she walked through the foyer, she disappeared down the hallway after motioning him into the living room.

He didn't sit, instead studying the photos on the wall.

Somehow, he knew they were hers. They had her touch. His favorite was of a wheat field, the stalks bent in the breeze. A lone child walked away from the camera, arms griping a teddy bear that was almost half her size, her blonde hair blowing about her.

"That's my niece. She was almost two at the time."

He didn't know she'd come up behind him. "You took it." It wasn't a question, but a statement.

She nodded. "It was one of the first ones I took . . . afterwards."

He knew what she meant. After the pain. The shock. The anger and hurt.

Probably after the pills, too.

She was wearing a pair of sweat pants that looked two sizes too large and an oversized T-shirt with a rock band logo on it that hadn't had a hit in years. Her hair was almost dry, and it curled up at the ends, fanning her face.

He thought she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Just how could she waitress for him for so long without him noticing?

He cleared his throat, hoping to clear those thoughts from his mind. "Tell me." His voice was kind, deep, low, and the look in his eyes matched the concern in his voice.

Immediately, her eyes welled, and frustrated, she wiped the tears out of them with the heel of her hand, turning away.

But, perched on the edge of an overstuffed chair, her hands clasped together between her legs, her dog at her feet, that's exactly what she did.

"We were returning from a company soft ball game. Allen was the first baseman. He played baseball in college and was actually quite good at it, although he never did get the call from the pros that he wanted."

Skinner saw the look on her face. She was reliving old times. Better times. Happier times.

He knew the feeling.

He settled across from her on the couch and leaned back, ready to listen.

"We didn't go straight home. We went out for ice cream instead. I had . . . just found out I was pregnant, and it was our way of celebrating." She studied her hands almost as if they didn't belong to her. Nero pressed his weight against her legs, sensing her grief.

She sniffed and wiped her eyes. "THe other's driver's name was Kevin. He had actually dated my younger sister in high school. Ironically enough, he worked for the same manufacturing firm my husband did as a deliveryman. And, he was pissed at having to work while the rest of the company picnicked and played. So, he had one drink. Then another. Before he realized it, he was too far gone. But, he kept right on driving."

She stopped and took a deep breath, shutting her eyes briefly as she saw scenes in her mind that would forever haunt her. When she continued, it was almost at a whisper. "He said he never saw us. Drifted right over the line as we met on a straight-as-straight-can-be highway five miles from home. Both vehicles . . . wound up in a ravine on the side of the road. The force of . . . of the impact . . ."

Not for the first time, he doubted his decision to ask her to tell her story. He leaned forward. "If you don't . . ."

She shook her hand at him in dismissal. "It was head-on, and our van was so much smaller than the delivery truck that it pushed us into the ditch. I remember as the truck drifted our way, its headlights blinding, I screamed. Allen jerked the wheel, which is probably what saved me because the force of the impact hit more on his side than mine." She absently played with Nero's ears as the dog watched her with soulful eyes.

"I remember the noise. An awful sound. Metal on metal. Like a thousand screaming finger nails on chalk boards. And, we flipped. Over and over. Landing in a heap at the bottom of the ditch. Then, it was quiet. Nothing. Nothing at all. But, Scott. He started crying at the top of his lungs. I couldn't see him. I couldn't reach around for him. . ."

By now, the tears were falling freely, and she let them. "The entire dash had been shoved up against my left side, and I had this blinding pain, almost as if something was digging into my hip. And, the roof of the car had crumbled in such a way that all I could see was Allen. He had blood dripping out of his mouth. From his nose and his head. And, I watched him die. Right there on the side of the road, his eyes seeing nothing. That's all I could see. I couldn't turn away. I was pinned. At some point, Scott stopped crying. I . . . I couldn't get him to start again. I remember . . ." she squeezed her eyes shut. "I remember screaming. As loud as I could. For help. But, no body came. There was no one else on the road, and both vehicles had fallen out of sight."

She could feel the tears dripping off her chin, but didn't care. She was in another place. Another time.

"Eventually, someone spotted the tire marks and investigated. But, it was too late. I could see them take his . . . his little lifeless body out of his car seat . . . his arm was . . . it was . . . dangling . . ." A sob escaped, and she clamped her hand over her mouth to keep anymore at bay.

Skinner had seen some horrid things in his life. A youth lost in Vietnam and an adulthood spent at the mercy of the FBI was responsible. But, the thought of having to go through what she did that night on a lonely country road was devastating, even to him. Especially after he watched her try her best to control her emotions. He wanted to hold her, to help her.

But, he didn't. He sensed that she wanted to be left alone to finish what she had to say.

So, he let her.

"It was like a really awful dream, the kind you want to wake up from, but can't. The next few days were terrible. I . . . I don't remember much about the funerals. By then, I was in a wheelchair, my left leg mangled, but I was numb. With medication. And grief. There was . . . was damage from the wreck that caused me to lose the baby. There's so much scarring now that future children would be a health risk I was told not to take." She took a ragged breath. "My parents, my family, didn't know what to do. I was inconsolable. My children, my husband, were gone." She paused. "But, as things always do, everyone around me slowly returned to normal. Except me. I still had the pain. And the nightmares. I heard my baby screaming for me, but I couldn't get to him, couldn't do anything. I was afraid to sleep. So, I took double the required medication. Then triple. I couldn't keep enough pills. When my doctor stopped prescribing them, I went to another. The another." She wiped her eyes with her shirt sleeve. "My grandmother is the one who saved me. She marched into my dirty house one day, snatched open the curtains and pushed a picture of my dead family into my face. 'Is this what they would have wanted? Is this what you should do with your life?' she kept asking."

A rueful chuckle. "How I hated her for it! She made me face it. She made me realize what I was doing. What I was becoming. Together, we flushed the pills down the toilet. She stayed with me for several weeks. Through the trial. God, I needed those pills during that trial, but she kept them away from me. Kevin got life in prison, I got $15 million."

She sighed. "I couldn't stay there. Everywhere I went, people were whispering, giving me those . . . those pitying looks. I couldn't take it." Looking at him for the first time, she shrugged. "So, here I am."

Those dark eyes behind those glasses were hard to read in the dim light from the lamp next to her. "Why do you even work? The money . . ."

She looked away. "My family was worth much, much more, and I refuse to touch it to survive. It could never, ever replace what I had . . ." She felt the tears start again and bit her lip to keep them from falling. "I did use some to . . . get me away from there. Seemed fitting, in a way. And, my job . . . keeps me sane. Keeps me on a schedule. Keeps me in touch with reality. Because, if it were up to me, I'd stay holed up in this house or out somewhere I don't need to be with a camera. Because that keeps me sane, too. The pictures. The photos. Capturing life one shot at a time."

"And, the list."

She laughed a little, surprised he even remembered. "My shrink's idea. She said it would 'give me a reason to live.' Let me tell you, I thought she was crazy at first, but once I warmed up to the idea, it was hard to stop thinking of things I've always wanted to do.

Without realizing what she was doing, she had reached over to her purse and rummaged through it until she found the rumpled piece of paper. She was beyond caring what anyone thought of her at this point. Not today.

He took it from her before she changed her mind, reading it slowly. "I like No. 8."

She knew it from memory. "Go to Alaska and pet a moose." She laughed a little. "I got a little carried away."

"You've done some of them." He saw the few that were crossed off.

"A few of the safe ones, maybe."

"You've enjoyed yourself. At least you did when you crossed off No. 16."

"Learn to shoot a pistol." Anna did smile, a small, but genuine one, but it faded fast. "I do have fun, but sometimes I wonder if it all came at a cost. I wouldn't be doing these things if it wasn't for what happened." She sounded lost, so unlike what he was used to hearing from her.

He motioned, and she obediently complied, settling against his side. He kissed the top of her head, his arm draped across her shoulder pulling her closer still. "It comes with a cost that was not of your doing, and you've paid it in spades."

She sniffed, burying her face in his side, breathing deeply. The slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat soothed her troubled soul. "I know life goes on. I really understand that. But, sometimes . . . I feel guilty. When I find myself having fun. Living. Almost as if I shouldn't."

"You can't mourn forever." His voice was deep, his chest rumbling against her cheek.

"I know. But, it doesn't make it any easier."


	18. Chapter 18

Anna woke the next morning sprawled across her couch, the sun just peaking through the blinds. Momentarily confused, she sat up. Absently, she rubbed her cramped leg.

Nero, asleep in the small patch of sunlight from the French doors going out to the back yard raised his head, yawned and rolled over with a groan.

He'd let Nero out before he left. Usually, Nero was dancing all over the place to do his business on the lawn.

She rubbed her itching eyes, irritated, no doubt, from all the tears she'd shed the night before.

She didn't know how long he'd stayed. Or when he'd left.

Strangely enough, she didn't regret telling him about the accident. He didn't react with the usual platitudes and hollow words that most people did. He just listened. That was what she wanted the most.

And, he held her until she fell asleep. That was apparently what she _needed_ the most.

But, now he'd disappeared. Again.

Huffing her sleep-matted hair out of her eyes, she struggled to her feet and to the bathroom.

That's where she found the note stuck in-between the mirror and the base.

_Gone for breakfast. Be back before 7_.

That was it. Very perfunctory. Precise. Clear cut.

Boy, he'd been busy while she snored away, drooling on her couch cushions.

She looked at her watch. 6:35. Just enough time for a shower.

She was in and out of the shower in record time. But, she did remember to start the coffee before she disappeared to the bathroom.

The coffee was finishing when she heard his car in the driveway. Taking one quick look at herself in the mirror, she smoothed her knit top and wiped a piece of fuzz from her jeans, wishing her eyes weren't so damned bloodshot.

Suddenly nervous, she chided herself, surprised when she heard a key in the door.

_Just think how nervous you'd be if you slept together._

_And, where did he get a key?_

Walter walked in, still wearing his clothes from the night before, minus the tie and jacket and carrying a white paper sack. And, her car keys. Complete with a key to her front door.

He looked surprised, pausing just inside the kitchen. "Didn't expect to see you up."

"My leg. It hurts like the dickens when I sleep cramped up."

Her mouth starting watering when the delicious aroma hit her, stomach growling loudly, and she reached for the bag.

He watched her, bemused, as she pulled all the food containers out of the bag. "I was wondering if you liked bacon and eggs."

"I was raised on a farm. Pigs and chickens are a fact of life, and you eat them or starve." She heaped her plate high. "I always chose to eat them."

"Guess I shouldn't have worried, then."

"Guess not." She gave him a smile before she climbed onto her stool at her island, pushing the other plate towards him.

"Seems you didn't leave me much."

She actually blushed. "You should know better than to tease a woman about her eating habits."

"Seems I'm a little out of practice, I guess."

She pointed her fork at him. "My doctor at home would probably do. For awhile, he thought I was going to wither up and blow away in the next thunderstorm." She popped another forkful in her mouth.

He settled on the stool next to hers, and they ate in silence for a moment.

Remembering the coffee, she rose and fixed both of them a cup. Without thinking, she added cream to his, no sugar, earning a chuckle from him.

"What?" she paused, curious at his amused expression.

"The coffee. Just like I like it." He took a sip.

She realized what she had done and smiled. "World's best server. What can I say?" She continued with her breakfast, her mood lighter than it had been in a long while, considering yesterday's events.

She worked her way through the pile of food. "I should have cooked for you. After I snotted and drooled all over you, making you sleep on my couch and all."

"You were dead to the world. Didn't think you'd wake up anytime soon." Plus, he didn't want to leave. He could have stayed there all day and had her sleep on his chest, his arm long since losing any feeling. But, he didn't care one bit.

"I have to say, I haven't slept that soundly in weeks." She reached out and put her hand over his. "Thanks. For listening. It meant a lot."

He turned his hand over and grasped her fingers in his. They were soft, smooth, very feminine. "Thanks for not tossing me out of my office window yesterday."

"I have to say, I'm not going to apologize for getting mad at you. You deserved it." Her tone was light despite her words.

"And, I've learned my lesson well."

She smiled at his jest, enjoying the warm feel of his hand. For an office worker, his fingers were calloused, hands that worked hard and weren't afraid of it. Hands that would fight for what he believed in, for those who considered him a friend.

The ringing of the doorbell startled her and she glanced at the clock, reluctantly releasing his hand. "Who in the world . . . it's not even 7:30!"

There was no need to look through the peep hole. She could hear the twins screaming from halfway across the room.

Throwing open the door, she took one of the babies. "I forgot!"

Libby had not had a good morning. Normally taking careful care of her attire, always dressing in the cutest pant suits, she was rumpled and worn in a pair of old shorts and shirt that looked suspiciously like her husband's. "I wished I'd have known. We could have worked on planning this block party later." She stormed by Anna, the other twin propped on her hip, screaming away.

Anna jiggled the child in her arms, and the crying subsided a bit. Libby had stopped right in the entrance to her kitchen, staring.

"Anna, there's a man in your kitchen."

Anna rolled her eyes, walking around her and into the room. "Jeez, Libby, you make it sound like a mortal sin or something." She stole a glance at Walter, and he looked clearly amused, albeit a little uncomfortable.

Libby moved her child from one arm to the other, black mood forgotten, eyes dancing. "No wonder you forgot!"

Anna pursed her lips, her fair complexion turning pink under the scrutiny "Anna, this is Walter Skinner. Walter, this is my neighbor across the way, Libby Anderson. That's Sally." She motioned towards the baby in Libby's arms. "And I have Sandy." Glad for a diversion, she rummaged in her cabinet until she came up with a box of cookies. The baby automatically reached for the box before she could open it, and she had to perform a balancing act to keep both in check.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Libby stick out her hand, which he promptly shook. "Oh, so this is the big-tipper, I see."

"Libby!" Anna said in exasperation.

Libby grinned, clearly enjoying herself. She studied his obviously slept-in appearance, sleeves rolled up on well-defined arms, shirt rumpled. "Not bad, Anna, not bad at all."

Anna covered her eyes with her free hand. "Oh, good grief. Go wait in the living room. I'll be right there."

Still grinning, she trotted in the living room, humming something that suspiciously sounded like 'The Wedding March.'

Sandy began to fuss, and Anna jiggled her on her hip as the little girl smeared cookie crumbs all over the front of her shirt. _So much for my shower._ "I'm sorry for her. She's a little . . . high strung."

"Am not!" Libby's voice carried into the kitchen.

He just chuckled in reply.

"We're having a block party this Friday, and I have this sneaking suspicion I'm going to get roped into making 285 cupcakes." She ran her hand through the baby's hair, trying to make it lay down, but all it did was stick right back up.

Not for the first time, it struck him as to what she lost, especially after seeing her standing there, a baby on her hip. She was a mother. Plain and simple. And after her injuries, she might not ever be again.

If he could travel to the Nebraska State Penitentiary and throttle the DUI fellow for what he did, he most certainly would.

By now, they were standing at her front door. "Thanks for staying with me last night." She made sure to keep her voice low, out of earshot of her nosy friend. "And for breakfast."

"Anytime." And, he meant it, too.

He shifted from one foot to the other. The thought briefly flew through his mind that he wanted to see her again. Outside of _Gordo's_. She hadn't made a big deal out of the kiss, and he wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

He settled on a good thing. She wasn't overdramatic, like her friend in the living room with the baby that just started wailing again at top volume.

But, just how in the hell did he go about telling her without looking like an idiot?

* * *

Briefly, Anna wondered if he would try to kiss her again.

That was until Sandy, still in her arms, heard her sister and immediately started crying, matching her sister in volume, if anything else.

"I guess I need to let you tend to things around here."

She gave him an apologetic look. "Right."

With one last look, he was gone, walking down the steps and to his car.

Anna watched him climb inside. Sighing, she shut the door behind her, Sandy still crying and leaned her forehead on the cool wood for a moment.

"I guess I should have taken her. I didn't think about him kissing you good-bye or anything."

"Good Lord, Libby! You need a cowbell on your neck." She straightened up immediately. "And, he wouldn't have kissed me good-bye. It's not . . . like that."

Libby rolled her eyes. "Oh, _sure_! Some handsome hunk of man spends the night with you, and he won't kiss you good-bye. _Right_!"

"He didn't spend the night with me exactly . . ."

Libby pursued her lips. "Let me be the judge of that."

So, Anna told her. About the night at the monuments and the file and later at the restaurant. She did leave out the details of the conversation she overheard. No use in getting Libby stuck in the middle of whatever mess that was.

Libby's eyes bugged out. "He _did_ kiss you! I knew it! I _knew_ it!"

Anna, still clutching a now-complacent Sandy, managed to spread a blanket on the floor of the living room for the babies to play. "It was probably a pity kiss. I mean, I was standing in the rain in a stinky alley crying my eyes out. How sexy is that?"

"A _pity_ kiss? Heavens to Betsy, Anna, did it _feel_ like a pity kiss?"

She got all warm just thinking about it. "Not . . . really. But, he never tried again."

"Good. You don't jump a woman when she's mourning, no matter how angry he made you. But, he was persistent, I'll give him that. And you can be so damn stubborn sometimes. So, are you OK? Now, I mean?"

Anna gave her friend a small smile, the ache around her heart familiar. "Oh, so now you ask how I'm feeling."

"Oh, pooh! You know I thought about you all day yesterday. But, this is life, girl, and you gotta live it. And, he's an FBI agent, for goodness sakes! Of course, he'd have a file on you!"

"I didn't want him to sneak behind my back. I wanted him to ask me!" She wouldn't back down on that point. "But, it's water under the bridge now." She put her hand on her hip. "However, it is a little scary how much information they can find on someone as unobtrusive as me."

"Hon, it's a big world. Now, about those cupcakes . . ."

* * *

She'd made it past another birthday relatively unscathed. Thanks to Walter. She shuddered to think what she would have done without him here. Probably cried her eyes out and fall asleep on the sofa. Not too much unlike what they did.

But, it was better with him there. He made her feel braver than she really was, and just having him there gave her a quiet strength that she didn't know she had. Forget the physical reaction she had to him. On what would have been her son's fifth birthday, none of that mattered. She was moving on. Maybe one day, it wouldn't hurt so badly. For now, she'd take her comfort where she could get it.

She didn't see him at _Gordo's_ that night, chastising herself for even thinking he'd show up. Honestly, if he did show up, it would probably be more awkward than it was before they actually got to know each other.

But, he did call her the next day. Asked her how she was. Wanted to know if she'd gotten roped into the cupcakes. He paid attention to detail, she'd give him that. And just the sound of his voice gave her a goofy smile on her face that only Nero saw.

"Yeah, Libby can be quite persuasive."

"285? Seriously?" She could hear voices in the background. She looked at her watch. _He's probably at lunch._

"I know, I know. It sounds like a lot. Heck, who'm I kidding? It is a lot! But, if I do it right, it should only take . . . oh . . . four or five hours."

"You're a saint."

"Yeah, well, we'll see if sainthood still applies _after_ the cupcakes are made!"

He laughed, and they both went silent.

She cleared her throat, tracing patterns with her finger on the countertop. "Haven't seen you around _Gordo's_. Been busy?"

"It's been a little . . . hectic around here lately." No need in giving her the gory details. "But, that's not why I called. I wanted to see if you'd like to go to dinner Friday night. After the block party."

Her heart leapt, and she gripped the phone tighter. "Dinner? I . . . I can't." _Dammit!_

"Oh."

She caught his tone and mentally kicked herself. "I mean, I can't because I was also volunteered to clean up afterwards. I'm a sucker for a sob story, you know?" She tried to keep it light. "And, you know how we suburban folks are. This thing could go no telling how long."

She could hear the voices ebbing and flowing in the background. "So, is this party just for the people in your neighborhood, or can anybody come by?"

"I don't know if we would know if someone didn't live in our neighborhood." She was still disappointed she had to turn him down, so she missed her cue.

"Well, I might stop by, then. After work. If nothing comes up."

Her heart leapt again, and she surprised herself by how excited she was. "Really? That would be . . . uh . . .great!" _C'mon Anna! Great? Is that the best you could do?_

Despite her misgivings, when she hung up the phone, she did a little dance in her kitchen.

Nero was not amused.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19 . . . featuring The Lone Gunmen! Yea! And, this won't be their only appearance, either.

Oh, and for some reason, I have been informed that the site didn't send out a notice for Chapter 18. So, you might have to go read it. Cheerio!

* * *

They sat on the top step of her front porch, surveying their work, trash bags stuffed full of used paper plates, cups and flyers dotting her lawn.

"We do pretty good work." Anna nudged one of the bags with her toe.

"It's amazing how fast they cleared out when we started cleaning," Skinner added.

"At least old Frank stayed to help. He's a grouch, but he's a hard worker, I'll give him that much."

Skinner leaned backwards, more with the intent of getting closer to her than getting comfortable. "You have something nice to say about everybody, don't you?"

"You say it like it's such a bad thing." She felt his arm behind her and tried not to lean against it, although she sure wanted to.

"It's not. It can just make people want to . . . take advantage of you."

"Oh, trust me, I know. You can only get burned so much."

He didn't like the idea of anyone taking advantage of her in any shape, form or fashion.

"So, is there anything you don't like?"

"Sure."

"Name three."

"Fine." She appeared to think for a minute. "Ants. Rain in my galoshes. And burnt cupcakes."

He laughed. "Not those cupcakes again!"

She put her head in her hands. "I burnt two dozen of them. Had to make do with brownies because Libby had a fit, saying we weren't going to have enough. And you know what? There's about three dozen cupcakes and a batch of brownies sitting in my kitchen. I don't know what in the world I'm going to do with them." She elbowed him lightly in the side. "Take them to work. I bet some of those poor FBI agents hadn't had a good brownie in years."

"I bet those same FBI agents would beat a path to your door once they found out who made them." Despite the fact that he couldn't picture himself doing something so . . . so . . .friendly. Didn't fit with the image he tried to make for himself. An image that had served him well.

"So, tell me. Did Libby make you do the chicken dance?"

He rolled his eyes. "That woman! She's almost as bad as the worst drill sergeant I've ever met. And trust me, I've met some awful ones!"

Anna giggled. "Her husband Richard works for the Department of Defense, and he's not home much. So, to keep her little family in line in his absence, she has to be a stickler for organization, I guess." She glanced down the street towards her house, lights ablaze. "I don't think he was here tonight, either."

Walter knew about the DoD. He also knew Richard Anderson by reputation. He did not envy the man his job, that was for sure. "No, she didn't make me do the chicken dance. But, I did get roped into grilling half those hotdogs that got eaten. Honestly, I can't even tell you how she did it. One moment, I'm standing there with you, and the next, I'm wearing this God-awful apron and flipping hot dogs."

"I guess you're a sucker for a sob story, too, huh?"

"Guess so."

They sat in silence for a moment, enjoying the summer breeze.

To say she was thrilled when he showed up was an understatement. After running around all day getting preparations together, she had actually found the time to take a few pains with her appearance, although she tried not to get her hopes up. Sure, he might have had to stay late on the job, and there was no telling what sorts of things came up in his line of work.

However, by the time he arrived, she had chased children and ran supplies back and forth so long that her and her knee-length cotton dress felt withered in the heat.

He didn't seem to notice.

For all purposes, he seemed to enjoy himself, and she made sure to stick by his side long enough for introductions all around. Although she had a hard time trying to decide what to introduce him as, finally settling on the mundane 'friend.' Because that's all they were.

Right?

* * *

So, this was how the suburban half lived.

Skinner had to admit, he liked it, almost forgotten how pleasant it could be. He had lived so long in concrete hell, burying himself in his work that it was almost like stepping into the sunshine after being in the shadows.

Not to mention having her at his side. Nice touch. Very well worth the stifling heat from the grill.

He cleared his throat. "I'm ashamed to admit, I don't think I even know who lives on the same floor as me at my apartment. And you seem to know all your neighbors."

She shifted a little next to him, and he caught a faint whiff of her perfume. It fit perfectly with the scents of summertime that filled the air. "I got lucky. It's a friendly place. And, I imagine you're not home very much, anyway, to get to know anyone."

"My apartment sure doesn't feel like a home most of the time. Maybe that's why I stay away from it so much." He didn't know why he felt the need to open up to her, but he did.

She didn't seem to mind. In fact, she seemed to take his words to heart. "Have you always lived in an apartment?"

He shook his head. "Sharon and I had a house not far from here." He named a neighborhood that was far out of her price range, $15 million excluded. "We sold it during the divorce. But, I have to admit, I kept such long hours, even then, that I couldn't tell you if I ever saw the neighbors more than a few times."

"Is that why you divorced?" She was looking at him with those honest green eyes. Eyes that didn't judge, he knew.

He looked away, staring out onto her front lawn at Nero nosing at a trash bag. Anna snapped her fingers, and he obediently came trotting, plopping down at their feet.

"My hours at work sure didn't help things. In fact, once we started growing apart, keeping separate lives almost, it only served to make things worse."

She absently scratched Nero with the heel of her sandal, pale pink polish on her toes matching her dress. "That happens sometimes."

"Sadly enough."

"You still love her." It wasn't an accusation, just a statement of truth.

He shrugged, wondering just why this serious conversation wasn't making him bolt. Even with Sharon, serious topics made him squirm. "I was married to her for 17 years. It wasn't all bad, although at the end, we were basically strangers sharing a bed. We even tried to make it work again a few years ago, but it was so easy to fall back into old patterns."

"I imagine you've given up a lot for the FBI." She could just barely make out his face in the light from the street, but she could tell her comment made him think.

"Sure. My dignity. My beliefs. My core values. I am molded into what they want me to be. Apparently, I lost the power of free will somewhere along the way." He shouldn't have said it, but the game was getting old. In a hurry. He wanted her to know. To understand why he'd done the things he'd done.

Although she really didn't know _exactly_ what he'd done.

He spoke with such a bitter tone, she made sure to choose her words carefully, despite the questions swirling in her brain. "It's hard to do what's right, when all around you, there's nothing but chaos. But, all you can do is the best you can, and hope, when all is said and done, that you'll have something to show for it in the end. It may not be something . . . monetary, but pride in one's self and one's choices can be just as satisfying."

It seemed so natural to reach out and touch his hand as she spoke. He rubbed his thumb softly along the back of hers, thinking about what she said.

Finally, he spoke. "Are you sure you don't have a file on me? Because I'd swear you know all about me." He said it as lightly as he could, wanting to get away from the subject.

"Oh, sure. You know, all of my highly classified contacts in and around DC were just dying to help me out," she said sarcastically. Then, she smiled. "You're not as secretive as you think you are Walter Skinner. You have the same wants and needs as the rest of us." She leaned against him, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pressing his lips to her hair.

"So, I'm not as special as I think I am?"

"Only in your own little world."

She looked at him and smiled.

And wasn't at all surprised when he brushed his lips against hers. It was a simple touch, almost as if he were gauging her reaction, studying her for just a moment. It was a touch she felt all the way to her toes.

When he leaned in again, pulling her against him, she eagerly complied, feeling the same rush she did the night in the alley.

Except this time, they took the time to explore, to learn the taste and feel of the other.

Anna didn't know where this was going, and quite frankly, she didn't care. All she knew was in his arms was where she wanted to be. And honestly, she didn't know kissing could be so damned erotic, either.

When Nero took off across the yard, barking furiously, they broke off, both breathing heavily.

Momentarily confused, it almost didn't register that a van was pulling into her driveway. A 1970s era Volkswagen, to be precise, its occupants pinned in by her growling dog.

But, Skinner knew who it was. Cursing, he stood and helped her to her feet as she looked at him strangely.

"Should I call Nero off?" He was clearly not happy with whoever it was. And she sure had no clue who it was. No one she knew drove a vehicle like that.

"Let the damned dog have them."

But, Nero had clearly found someone he knew, still barking, but now wagging his tail as the person spoke after the engine had been shut off.

"Nice dog. Boy, you're a big dog, aren't you? Good boy."

Walter rubbed his eyes wearily as he stood next to her. "Oh, no . . ."

Mulder and three men she didn't recognize emerged slowly from the van.

"Nero! Come!" Anna ordered.

Mulder looked startled, almost as if he didn't know anyone was standing in the shadows.

That was probably a good thing. They didn't see what she and Walter were up to, then.

Reluctantly, Nero trotted over and sat by her, eyeing the visitors suspiciously.

"Mulder, what are you doing?" Skinner asked in exasperation.

Mulder paused, clearly surprised. "Assistant Director Skinner. I didn't know . . . what a surprise."

"I have a feeling you aren't the only one who's surprised." One of the other men spoke, pushing his black, horn-rimmed glasses up his nose.

"Cozy place, isn't it?" the other said, admiring the well-trimmed hedges and clean windows as he straightened his tie.

"Cozy as a corpse. I knew someone who was stabbed two houses down from here. 20 years ago. Didn't know a body could bleed so much." The third man shuddered at the thought.

Anna looked at Walter. "Who _are_ these people?" she whispered.

"Using the word 'people' is putting it loosely," he mumbled. "OK, Mulder," he said, his voice louder, "what's with the entourage?"

Mulder waved a cassette tape in his hands. "I think we've figured out who the other man in the photo was that Anna saw at the Jefferson Memorial. I just want her to verify our suspicions."

"For God's sakes, Mulder! Can't you just leave her alone?" Skinner was more than exasperated now. His anger was starting to get the best of him.

The shorter one whistled, rocking back on his toes. "Don't encroach on his territory, Mulder. Alpha males don't take too kindly to that, you know."

Mulder looked surprised. "I wasn't trying . . ."

Sure, Anna was confused, but she wanted to get this confusion off her lawn and into her house before the neighbors called the law. So, she took matters into her own hands. "Why don't you and your . . . friends come inside." She ushered all of them, including Nero, into the house.

The older one of the bunch, who was just about her height, studied her for a moment before he walked into the foyer.

"Never would have taken you for a car-jack wielding wonder woman," he surmised before sweeping past her in the house.

"Especially a _suburban_, car-jack wielding wonder woman. Who can cook, praise be told!" The blonde had his nose in the air, sniffing.

Walter was none-to-happy, not only for the rude interruption, but at the whole situation.

No matter how hard he tried, she was getting deeper and deeper into this mess.

And, hell, she didn't even know it.

"Mulder, when I get my hands on you . . ."

Mulder knew to clear out while the getting was good. Taking Anna by the arm, he practically drug her down the hall. "Anna, let me introduce you to my colleagues. This is John Byers," he motioned towards the more well-dressed of the three, "this is Richard Langley," he pointed at the blonde, "and . . ."

"This is Melvin Frohike." Frohike took her hand and kissed it lasciviously. "But, you can call me 'El Lobo'." He waggled his eyebrows at her as he hovered over her hand.

She could almost hear Walter grind his teeth from behind her, but to his credit, he didn't say anything.

Anna rescued her hand. "It's . . . nice to meet all of you."

Frohike looked at her. "You mean, you've never heard of us?"

"Should I have?" This just kept getting weirder and weirder . . .

"I'm afraid the lady doesn't run in the same circle as you do, Frohike." Skinner said in frustration, his contempt thinly-veiled in his voice.

Langley wasn't to be deterred. "You know? The Lone Gunmen. We have a newsletter and everything."

Anna shook her head, not knowing if she should be amused or concerned. "Sorry."

"Oh, c'mon, guys. Skinner's right. She leads a _normal_ life." Emphasis on normal by Byers. "You remember normal, don't you?"

Frohike actually appeared to think about it. "Normal is arbitrary, anyway. Who says _we're_ not normal?"

"Society as a whole determines who's normal, and since we're living underground printing a newsletter about government conspiracies," Byers shrugged, "you know how it goes."

Skinner was done. "Look. Just let her hear what you brought and leave, OK?"

"Ready to get the gal alone," Frohike leered. "Can't say I blame you. She's got nice calves. And a nice . . ."

"Mulder." Skinner's tone held a warning. "Get him away from me."

Mulder ushered all of them into the living room out of harm's way. "Sorry, sir. They helped with this and insisted on coming alone."

"Didn't know she was taken," Langley called from the living room.

"Who says she's taken?" They could here Frohike comment offhandedly. "I think one kiss on her front porch doesn't make her taken."

After they cleared out, she started to follow, but Walter took her by the arm, pulling her back towards him. She was standing so close, she could smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with grill smoke. "Listen, Anna, you don't have to do this. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, throw them out."

She put her hand on his chest, more to assure him than anything. "They're fine. They're actually sort of . . . entertaining. In a way. But, does Mulder always hang out with those sorts of people?"

"Every chance he gets."

When they joined the others, she saw Langley and Frohike staring longingly at the trays of cupcakes sitting in the kitchen.

There was one answer to one of her problems.

"Would you guys like something to eat? I have brownies. And cupcakes. . ."

They didn't need to be told twice. With Byers not close behind, they helped themselves, Anna watching, her mouth twitching in amusement. She handed Byers, who had chocolate icing all along his chin, a napkin.

"Forgive them. They were raised in a barn." But, Mulder helped himself to a brownie.

"It was a converted apple barn," Byers corrected.

"And, my parents were nomadic," Frohike added.

Anna decided to keep them on track, although these 'Lone Gunmen' as they so liked to be called, were downright amusing. "So, what's this tape?" She sat on the edge of an ottoman.

Walter remained standing from the doorway, grimly leaning against the frame, arms crossed, making sure everyone knew he was unhappy with the situation.

Mulder wiped crumbs from his shirt. "We had some ideas about who the fellow with his back to your camera might be, so we spliced together a few sound bites we could dig up, and want you to see if you recognize his voice."

She could hear Walter shift uncomfortably behind her. "Mulder, this is Bureau business. Can't you take care of this during regular hours?"

"I'm sure Assistant Director Kersh would love to be in on it. And he'd love you to be out of it." Mulder stared straight at Skinner, daring him to contradict him.

Skinner stared back, surprised Mulder even caught that he wanted to shield her from this mess. He didn't usually pick up on such things. Unless Scully told him. She was by-far the more detail-oriented of the two.

Byers, Langley and Frohike just watched as they munched on their cupcakes.

Anna cleared her throat and motioned. "Go ahead."

The first voice was a speech taped off a local radio show, but the accent was all wrong. She shook her head. "No."

"OK . . ." Mulder fast forwarded a piece.

The second voice made her forehead furrow in concentration, the entire room quiet except for the voice. Finally, she shook her head again.

Mulder pushed the button again. And the minute the man started to speak, her eyes widened. "That's it! That's him!"

The Lone Gunmen exchanged glances with Mulder as he stopped the tape.

"Well? Who was it?" Skinner asked impatiently.

Mulder removed the tape from the stereo. "You remember our friend of Congress? The one who called the three of us out while I was in Russia?" He carefully left out a name, not wanting her to know. Scully told him to be careful with the details, not because they couldn't trust Anna but because their former boss didn't want her to know.

Skinner's eyes widened, but he remained quiet, his mind racing.

Just what did it all mean?

Anna looked back and forth between the two men. They had given her another puzzle piece. But, damned if she knew where it went.

Mulder retrieved his tape. "Thank you, Anna. You've been a great help."

"And thanks for the cupcakes, too, Mrs. Greensburg," Byers said politely.

"It's Anna. And please, take them. Take them all."

Brightening considerably, they happily absconded with the remaining pastries, still munching as they climbed into their van.

Frohike gave her another once-over, his arms full of brownies before stopping in front of Skinner. "I like her, she's got chutzpah."

Skinner rolled his eyes. "Not that I need your opinion."

"I didn't know you were Jewish," Mulder added as they walked out the door.

"Only on the angry Russian side."

Anna shut the door behind them before she burst out laughing.

Skinner wished he was as amused. They just kept getting further mired into something he didn't understand. And, honestly, didn't really want to.

She saw his annoyance and frustration and patted him on the arm. "Don't worry so much. They seem relatively harmless."

"It's not those men I'm worried about. It's what information they dig up that has me disturbed."

She pulled back the curtain and watched them careen out of the driveway and down the street, wincing they turned the corner, narrowly missing a mailbox. She let the curtain fall, turning around to face him again. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

"No."

His answer was so sharp, Anna raised an eyebrow. "There you go. Going all FBI on me again." She crossed her arms.

He sighed. "It's just that . . . the less you know the better."

She didn't look convinced.

His mind scrambled for something to say that would make the disappointment on her voice disappear. "Can you get next Saturday off by any chance?"

She blinked, startled at the change of subject. "Saturday? I . . . don't see why not." Her heart pounded, and she resisted the urge to grin like an idiot. He wanted to see her again. "What do you have in mind?"

"Let's just say I'd like to help you cross something else off your list. Wear something comfortable." He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers gently.

Anna's mind raced. "Which one?" she asked warily.

"Don't go getting all paranoid on me. I get enough of that from Mulder."

After another, longer kiss that left her breathless, he was gone.

Anna shut the door behind her one more time and leaned against it, trying to figure out how in the world she got so taken with him so quickly.

And what he was going to get her into next Saturday.

* * *

"I want to go after him."

Skinner had been expecting this pronouncement from Agent Mulder, surprised it took him a few days to come to his office with it.

He leaned back in his chair. "With what evidence?"

Exasperated, Mulder replied, "You know what evidence! She _identified_ him! His voice. We even have a photo."

"Which could be anybody. It only shows him from the back."

Mulder stood up and started to pace. "I don't see why you aren't all for this. If we can get the senator to cave, then a few others might follow!"

"And then their positions will be filled by the next crook standing in line. You know how this works, Agent Mulder. You remove one, but you can't stop them all. It goes deeper than that."

"But, dammit, we can try, can't we? Anna can testify against him . . ."

His eyes were as hard as his voice. "She will _not_."

Mulder stopped pacing and stared at his superior. "She heard them. She can identify him."

Skinner stood. "A good attorney would tear her to shreds, and you know it. She never saw his face, it was dark and she only identified him several days removed from the situation by a voice on a tape! None of it is concrete enough to stand up in court, and you know these people have the best lawyers money can buy!"

Mulder stared at his for a moment. He knew Skinner was right, but didn't want to believe it. "It's her decision . . ."

"Goddammit, Mulder, I said no! If you even go near her with this, so help me, you'll wish you hadn't." The threat in his voice was obvious.

Mulder's voice was a tad lower this time. "You're letting your personal feelings override your better judgment."

Skinner narrowed his eyes. "You're out of line, Agent Mulder. I'm just as interested in the truth as you are. But, I will not see innocent people take the stand on your behalf and get dragged into this unnecessarily when this is _not_ the way to win this. Find another way."

Mulder ran his hands through his hair. "Son of a _bitch_! Just once, I'd like to have the upper hand."

Skinner's anger returned to a simmer. "They've had the upper hand for fifty years. They won't give it up without a fight."

Mulder stormed out, and Skinner returned to his seat, exhaling loudly.

He was right. He knew it. They would tear her to bits on the stand. He couldn't protect her from them after they knew what she heard and saw. And, the evidence was all hearsay, nothing substantial. Plus, the senator was just a small cog in this whole wheel of deception, a cycle Skinner wondered if they were too late to stop.

* * *

Sorry, I had a quote from 'Sons of Anarchy' in here. (Kurt Sutter is da' bomb!). And, I have this issue with Anna, of course, thinking of Skinner by his first name when everyone else talks in last names. Gets confusing.


	20. Chapter 20

You'll never guess who shows up in _this_ chapter!

Oh, and references to all sorts of episodes in here. Too many to name, although it would be fun to try :-)

* * *

"I think I'm going to be sick!" Annahad to yell to be heard over the roar of the plane, her hair whipping out from under the helmet she wore, stinging her eyes.

"Just remember what they told you," he yelled back in response.

She chewed on her bottom lip, trying not to be scared. There were safety features upon safety features. People did this everyday. They didn't panic. They didn't puke.

After all, she did put it on her list, didn't she?

But, for some reason, jumping out of a perfectly good plane several thousand feet in the air probably wasn't her smartest move.

They had left early Saturday morning for an unknown destination - at least to Anna - driving several hours south to Portsmouth, VA. She still didn't know what he had in mind, no matter how much she cajoled him to tell her.

But, she enjoyed spending time with him just the same.

Before she knew it, she was sitting in a Navy classroom being instructed on the hows and what fors of parachuting.

It excited her and scared the crap out of her at the same time.

Taking deep breaths and concentrating on the steady hum of the engine, she had almost talked herself out of her fear when the instructor opened the back hatch of the plane.

_I can do this I can do this I can do this . . ._

It was her mantra. She clung to it as she walked on shaky legs to the edge, peering out. The ground below looked like a crazy quilt, house and roads and fields making funny patterns. They waited on the other men, the soldiers who actually volunteered for this training exercise, to clear out, stepping out of the plane as if they were stepping off a bus. No big deal.

Anna envied them. She swallowed hard, but remembered to double check her parachute as the air whipped crazily around her.

"I'll be right behind you!" he yelled from behind her.

"You better be, or I'll haunt you in my next life," she mumbled, more to herself than anything. Only the navy instructor heard, and he hid a smile.

Taking a deep breath, she held it for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest.

The instructor, receiving a message from the pilot, gave her a thumbs up.

She could jump when ready.

_I can do this I can do this I can do this . . ._

Making sure she didn't clamp her eyes shut, she jumped, clearing the air craft. If she was going to do this crazy stunt, she wasn't going to miss a damn thing.

The wind whistled past her as she plummeted towards earth, the air grabbing her body, sucking the breath right out of her. The crazy quilt pattern loomed closer and closer, but in a way, she almost felt like she were standing still, arms and legs outstretched as her flight suit was plastered to her body by her descent. Letting out a whoop of pure exhilaration, it was lost in the wind, carried away before it even left her mouth.

She was surprised she even remembered to start the countdown in her head. Praying like hell the stupid thing would deploy, she yanked it with all her might. As it opened up, catching air, her entire body was snatched to a much slower descent by the harness.

Hands shaking from excitement, she almost forgot to reach carefully in her pocket for a camera – not her father's antique one - and snap a few pictures. Her grandmother would have a fit when she got them!

The landing area for training was cleared, and she was proud of herself when she remembered to hit the ground running, so the parachute wouldn't get tangled behind her. She was glad that the navy personnel on hand helped her unhook the chute because her adrenaline-fused fingers wouldn't respond.

Energized from the excitement, she didn't even notice Walter land yards from them, receiving the same assistance with removing all the necessary equipment as she was.

* * *

Anna's face was flushed from the excitement, her eyes bright. The hair that had escaped her ponytail fanned her face, making her look even more alive and youthful than before.

When her carefree laughter reached him after something one of the cadets said to her, he knew he was too far gone to turn back. Especially after she caught sight of him, her expression brightening even more. She practically skipped into his arms.

"That was _amazing_!" she gasped, hugging him tightly. "Thank you thank you _thank you_!"

He laughed along with her, her excitement contagious. "You are most certainly welcome!"

When she pulled away and smiled up at him, he almost leaned down and kissed her. Right there in front of the whole bunch of Navy cadets and whoever else might be watching.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" She pulled away, and the moment passed, searching for her list, pulling it out of her pocket. With a pen she borrowed from one of the Navy men, she crossed number 3 off with a flourish. "There! Four down, 17 more to go!"

* * *

"You're going to think this is lame, but I've never felt more alive in my life!" Anna wiped her fingers on her napkin, the greasy fried chicken she ordered delicious, but messy. "And, you probably think nothing of it."

"Watching you, it made me remember the rush of it all." _And not just jumping out of planes, either._ He took a sip of his drink to keep from saying that aloud.

"How many times have you jumped?"

"It's been years, but back when I was in the Marines, it was a weekly occurrence. I guess it's just something that you never forget how to do."

"Like riding a bike."

He shrugged. "Guess so."

"Although, this is much more fun!" She took a sip of her drink. "I have to admit, I honestly didn't know what you had up your sleeve."

They'd had lunch several times during the week, and he had come to _Gordo's_ once, but during all their conversations, she just couldn't figure it out.

"I know you. You would have backed out if you had too much time to think about it." He'd had to cash in a few favors – a civilian using military equipment for such an adventure was unheard of - but they were allowed to tag along for the ride, the training exercise already being scheduled for a parachute drop.

She made a face. "You're probably right. I can see myself doing research on everything that could go wrong."

"Then, it wouldn't be half as much fun. And isn't that what your list is about? Living life?" Walter knew he was one for telling people to live life to its fullest – he rarely did anything spontaneously anymore.

"Now you sound like my old shrink."

"Nice to know I'll have a back-up job if this FBI thing doesn't work out."

"How long have you been with the FBI, anyway?"

"Almost 15 years. Joined right out of the Marine Corps."

She took another bite and wiped her fingers on her napkin. "I figured you for a Marine. You seem tough, like a Marine." her voice lowered a notch in the crowded restaurant just outside of Portsmouth, VA. "But, don't tell these Navy guys that. I have a feeling they wouldn't take it too well."

He couldn't help but chuckle. "They'll live. The truth hurts."

"So, were you drafted?"

He swallowed his bite of food, their late lunch sitting like lead in his stomach, his appetite vanished. "I volunteered. Right out of high school."

She cocked her head. "So you could choose what you wanted, where you wanted to go?"

"Because it was the patriotic thing to do. And, I believed it was what was right." _For what good it did me._

She folded her hands in her lap, watching him, debating on how to react. "I had a few uncles that fought in Vietnam. One didn't come back." She left it open-ended, wondering if he'd take the bait and open up to her.

Although she should have known him better than that by now.

"It happens." The brush-off. What he usually did when anyone got to close.

He wanted to tell her that what happened to him half a world away was the beginnings of losing faith. Although she had been through so much, he sensed she still had her faith – in her family and her friends and her country. He couldn't be responsible for skewering it.

"My uncles wouldn't talk about it much. At least, for many years. I imagine how awful it was . . ."

"You couldn't possibly imagine." Harsh words. He blurted it out before he realized it, immediately regretful at the hurt look in her eyes.

She soldiered on. "I feel like you know me through and through, but as for you . . ." She shrugged, helplessly.

"Maybe that's as it should be."

She kept her mouth shut after that.

The return trip home was as just as quiet as the trip down there had been conversational. The hum of the tires on the road was all that filled the interior of the car. She stared straight ahead, occasionally glancing out the window disinterestedly.

Anna knew she'd overstepped some sort of unspoken boundary. She wasn't accustomed to them, to walls built up to keep out anyone from their deepest darkest secrets.

It wasn't like that with Allen. He knew all there was to know about her and vice versa.

But, Walter was not Allen. She knew that. She didn't want him to be. Whatever he was hiding, either in his past or his current job, she couldn't imagine it being so horrendous that she'd stop loving him.

She held her breath for a moment, looking down at her hands.

Yes, she said it.

She loved him.

Despite making her feel safe and secure, he ignited a passion in her that she didn't think she'd ever felt. Even with Allen. She knew you couldn't build a relationship on lust alone, but what she felt was more than that.

And she didn't see just how it could be returned. Sure, she knew how she affected him physically. But, emotionally, he seemed to have closed himself off to any feelings other than those he deemed absolutely necessary. He couldn't even make his first marriage work when he obviously still cared for his ex-wife.

And, it scared the hell out of her. More so than sky-diving ever did. She loved a man that apparently spent his life, for whatever reason, shielding himself from those around him. To protect himself or to protect others, she didn't know. Although with her, he seemed to open up, if only a little.

But, damned if she knew how to coax him into opening up even more.

How could she love a man that didn't trust her?

Tears stung her eyes, and she looked out the passenger window, watching the scenery zoom by.

* * *

He knew he'd upset her. But, it just came some natural to him to give curt answers to deflect attention, despite his heart telling him otherwise.

Did he think she'd hate him for what he'd done? Would she understand?

Everything was so different with Anna Turner Greensburg. When he and Sharon met, they were painfully young, caught up in the end of a decade-long war and each other to think too far into the future. And, he'd had other women, most of them one-night stands, only wanting the physical release that came with the territory.

Anna was different. Sure, he wanted to sleep with her. He often found himself thinking about her at the most inopportune moments, having to force himself to pay attention to whatever meeting or other such nonsense was going on around him. It went beyond that, though. Most people thought her to be a quiet, timid woman, maybe a little frail. Someone who needed to be protected.

But, she just never had a chance to prove herself. He saw so much more. He saw her fight to help him when she barely even knew him. He saw her easily adjust to new situations and people without batting an eye and handle the most stressful situations with as much grace and dignity as he'd ever seen. Although she didn't think herself to be, he found her one of the bravest people he knew, coping with so much tragedy in her life, but coming out of it on the other side, determined to live on her own terms.

He wanted to be a part of that. He truly did. But, he didn't know how do go about it.

The sun was sinking lower as they traveled north of Richmond. She had her chin propped on her hand, watching the scenery whiz by. He'd stolen a glance occasionally in her direction, but couldn't see her face.

When he saw the next green exit sign, he flipped on the blinker. It was a back road into DC. One that he took often to avoid traffic.

She looked at him quizzically, but didn't comment.

That was something else. She trusted him. Didn't question him. It was scary, yet liberating, all at the same time.

Not far off the interstate, he pulled off at an old service station, the orange 76 sign faded and cracked in the sunlight, for gas.

She climbed out and walked inside without saying a word as he pumped fuel, returning a few moments later with two drinks. She handed him one wordlessly, and he took it, taking a few swallows.

Hell, she even knew what he liked to drink!

But, that was the waitress in her.

They weren't back on the two-lane blacktop for long. He saw the signs for the state park and turned off. It was an old Civil War skirmish sight the state of Virginia, full of history, insisted on keeping up. But, it was rarely visited, overshadowed by the more well-known battlefields that filled up this part of the state.

He paid the small fee and tossed the parking decal on the dash.

"Park closes at dark," the attendant made sure he knew.

Skinner just waved and drove on through.

The parking lot was deserted, and they both climbed out.

* * *

Anna had always liked history, but she had a feeling they weren't there to brush up on their Civil War knowledge.

The air was balmy, and birds chirped in the tall grass flanked all around by woods, filled with nature trails and markers noting important spots in history.

She walked along side him as they started on one of the trails. It was cooler in the woods, and the breeze felt refreshing in the humid air.

When he took her hand as they walked, she felt somewhat relieved.

They hadn't gone far when he started talking.

"I was 18. Naïve. Trusting. And, I joined the Marines, thinking I'd save the world. Me and every other guy in my platoon . . ."

She listened intently as he told her about his tour. The little boy strapped with bombs he shot and killed. How he lost faith in anything that day, losing himself in whatever drug he could get his hands on to forget.

And there were plenty. It was the 70s after all.

By the time he got to the fateful night every single man in his platoon was gunned down, she could almost see the scenes he had lived through so long ago as they walked slowly down the bumpy trail.

His voice broke more than once as he told her what he remembered – watching from somewhere as the Viet Cong stripped them all of their weapons, leaving them for dead and watching as all of them were put into body bags.

The night terrors he still had. He couldn't leave those out.

As she wiped her eyes with her free hand, hesitantly, he told her about the apparition who saved him, only to appear many years later to try to save him again when he faced murder charges of a high dollar prostitute and attempted murder of his estranged wife, carefully leaving out the reasons that his agents – and he – thought were behind the set-up.

Anna was speechless. "A succubus? Really? I thought they were just part . . . part of mythology."

"Mulder lives in mythology funland, and more often than not, he's right."

"Well - what do you think?"

"I . . . honestly don't know what to think. I've never thought much about beyond what happened to me. I guess . . . it's just hard to face there might be something else going on out there that we can't quite fathom."

"Seems to be Agent Mulder's M.O., huh?"

"No kidding." They walked along in silence, the woods growing darker as the sun set. Impulsively, he pulled her against him and kissed her forehead as they walked along, her arm wrapped around his waist.

"What was that for?"

"For reacting to that story just like I thought you would."

She wanted to know how he saw her, what she looked like through his eyes. "How's that?"

"Calm. Collected. Non-judgmental. And, you don't ask so many damned questions."

"That doesn't mean I don't have them."

He raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

She linked her arm with his as the clearing and the deserted parking lot came into view. "With . . . Sharon, why did anyone want to set you up like that? Why not just . . . just kill you outright?"

"To borrow Mulder's words, I think I'm worth more to then alive and disgraced than dead and buried."

"Have they tried to get to you . . . any other way?"

He was treading carefully with her, not wanting to reveal too much, but wanting her to understand. "The first time, they hired a hit man. The second time, they tried this. Nothing else so far that I haven't put myself into on my own."

Scully's cancer. She knew what he was talking about. Two more pieces fit together in the big picture. And, he'd already told her before about being shot in the restaurant, and Scully catching the guy. There was something in there about her sister being killed by the same man. Some of it just didn't add up . . . In a way, she was perturbed at him for feeding her this information a bit at a time, but the larger the picture became, the more shocked she was.

When they were back at the car, he paused before opening the passenger door for her, his eyes troubled. "You don't . . . think any less of me? For any of it?"

Anna gave him a soft smile, reaching up and touching his face. "I think you're a good man in a world that's proven not to be good at all. You're not perfect. Neither am I. And, I'm not going to sit here and tell you that it will all work out in the end. But when it is over, if you've done the right thing, that's all you can do."

He took her hand in his, kissing her finger tips gently before letting her go. "You're some woman, you know that?"

She laughed. "More than you know, Walter, more than you know."

He didn't doubt it one bit.

As he was leaving the park, the attendant came out of his hut, flagging them down. "You guys see a red Dodge truck back there?"

"There was no one but us."

He scratched his grey head, making his hair stand up on end. "That's strange. They came in right behind you folks, but I haven't seen 'em leave. And, I've been right here the whole time."

"Maybe they went off-road?"

The attendant pursed his lips. "Against the rules."

Skinner knew rules were only there to be broken. "Sorry we couldn't help."

The attendant raised the bar, letting them continue home.

* * *

He had watched them all day, although access to the naval base proved tricky. It was amusing, to say the least. She looked half his age, although the information he had on her proved otherwise.

_Walt, old boy, I didn't know you had it in you_.

He wondered if they'd slept together. If they hadn't, they surely wanted to. He knew the body language when he saw it.

He had no plans to mess with the woman. It wasn't her fight. He liked to keep this strictly among the involved parties. Plus, he didn't care for harming women. That was more that cigarette-smoking bastard's operating style. But, he certainly enjoyed knowing everything there was to know about his own personal enemies.

Too bad Skinner had to die. The broad already lost one husband.

He'd watched them from a safe distance in the woods, out of hearing of their conversation after he'd backtracked, hiding his stolen truck in the woods near the highway. He'd changed vehicles three times already, so he didn't think they knew he was watching. It was a serious conversation, but he didn't think Skinner foolish enough to tell her what was going on – how the vice was clamping harder and harder around them all.

But, then again, maybe not.

Skinner needed a reminder of just what was at stake here.

* * *

_Oooooooo_. So , who is _this_? I think you're fairly familiar with him ;-)


	21. Chapter 21

References to the ep S.R. 819 towards the end.

* * *

"Boxing is a good stress reliever, huh?" Anna thought for a moment, the lights from an oncoming car making her squint.

"It helps. Better than drinking myself into a stupor."

"Why do you stay? If it messes with your life and your mind so much? Why not just walk away?"

Skinner had often asked himself that same question and told her so. "I guess if I have a chance to help someone, I have to take it." Even at the expense to his sanity.

"I don't think you lost all your faith in Vietnam. I think it just shows itself in other ways. Loyalty. Honesty. Hard work."

He glanced up in the rearview mirror. That same vehicle had been following them since a few miles away from the state park. It was dark, so he couldn't tell a make or model. "You make it sound so simple."

"Well, boxing seems to simplify things, too. Knock the other guy to the mat. The end." She shrugged. "I like simple. Life's too complicated as it is."

He glanced up in the rear view again. Same vehicle. Same distance. "If you like simple so much, stop by tomorrow evening. I've got a match."

"You compete?"

"It's just a local team."

She looked dubious, even in the darkness. "I don't know . . . there's not lots of blood, is there?"

He laughed. "No. No blood. Maybe a busted lip here and there."

She brightened. "I'd like to see how you entertain yourself."

He couldn't help it if his heart felt just that much lighter. He could have spent all his free time with her and been happy as can be. The fact that she had a glimpse into his world and didn't run screaming into the night spoke volumes.

They were getting closer to Alexandria, but the two-lane blacktop was still fairly deserted, most people choosing the interstate for faster travel. When he glanced up again, the vehicle headlights behind them brightened and sped up considerably.

He cursed. "Anna. You need to brace yourself." He sped up, trying to soften the blow, hoping he could steer the car out of the way at the last moment.

Anna whirled around to look behind them, the powerful engine of the pick-up whining as it got closer, the emblem on the hood unmistakable. Returning to her seat, she griped the arm rest of the door tightly, head leaned back in the seat, braced for the onslaught.

There was no oncoming traffic, and Skinner jerked the car into the opposite lane as the truck floored it, ready to strike. Anna gasped and held on as her body jerked in her restraints.

The truck backed off for a moment, and she inhaled sharply, not realizing she was holding her breath. "Red Dodge," she managed to croak.

Walter remained grimly silent, ready for the next onslaught. He'd noted that, too.

This time, the truck anticipated his move, waiting until there was an oncoming vehicle. Anna clamped her eyes shut as the intimidating grill loomed in her passenger mirror.

Walter managed to keep the car on the road as the truck slammed into them, the oncoming car honking frantically as it passed. Jerked forward, Anna held onto whatever she could.

The truck backed off, one headlight shattered and rammed them again. This time, he floored it, driving straight through them.

"Not so fast, ass hole," she heard Walter mutter. He slammed on brakes, sending both vehicles into a lazy spin, tires squealing and metal crunching.

_The delivery van. Screaming, coming from me. Allen jerked the wheel. The crunch of metal. The screech of rubber on the highway . . ._

Anna didn't realize she'd clamped her eyes shut until they came to rest in a ditch, headlights careening at a crazy angle off the road.

"You OK?" Walter asked from beside her, slightly out of breath.

All Anna could do was nod, breathless, as she slowly opened her eyes.

"Stay right here. Lock the doors behind you." He threw the car into park and was gone, pistol materialized out of thin air.

Anna managed to focus through the windshield and saw the red Dodge sitting on its roof on the other side of the road, back wheels spinning lazily.

Weapon pointed at the truck, she watched as Walter moved closer.

But, she could already tell. There was no one inside the crumbled cab.

_Who would do such a thing?_

She watched him methodically check all around. Apparently hearing something in the woods, he took off, leaving her alone, the only sound the pinging of the car's engine as it cooled.

This has something to do with Walter. Something he's not telling me . . .

Frantically, she reached for her cell phone and dialed 911, praying she didn't hear gunshots.

In a shaking voice, she managed to give the Prince William EMA her best guess at their location.

Before she could answer their question about the other car, a face loomed in her window. She screamed and dropped the phone. Thinking fast, she reached over and laid down on the horn, trying to get Walter's attention.

But, the face was gone.

"Ma'am? Ma'am, are you alright?" The operator's voice sounded teeny as she scrambled for the phone in the floorboard.

After convincing the E-911 operator she was unharmed, she disconnected, letting the phone fall into her lap. Leaning her forehead on the cool windowpane for just a moment to collect herself, she was relieved when she saw Walter emerge from the woods next to the upside down truck, gun still drawn.

Fumbling for the lock, she hit it just as he opened the driver's side door.

"What happened?" As usual, he got straight to the point.

She didn't want to tell him. For some strange reason, she didn't want him to go after this man. "It was . . . there was a man. He was right here," she pointed to her passenger window. "Lots of hair. Bushy beard."

"Which way did he go?"

"I . . . I can't be sure. Back behind the car into the woods. I think."

He scanned the woods, but it was too dark to see anything. Muttering a curse, he stuck his pistol back in the holster and tossed it on the dash just as the sound of sirens filled the air.

* * *

Anna's eyes fluttered open as he pulled into her street. Blearily, she glanced at the dashboard clock.

1:16

Boy, she didn't expect to be out this late. The other houses on the street were dark. Silent. Everyone long asleep by now.

"You remembered to leave a light on inside this time," Walter commented.

"Didn't want to get lectured. Again."

"Old habits die hard, I suppose." He pulled into her driveway, headlights illuminating the front of her house and Nero in the backyard, tail wagging, and put the car in park, killing the ignition. The only sound was the pinging of metal cooling.

There was no damage to the car that kept it from being drivable, although the back end was pretty well smashed. After filing a police report, they were allowed to leave.

The pick-up truck was towed away, its driver still missing.

Anna fiddled with the straps on her purse. "The red truck? It was stolen, wasn't it?"

He stared. "How did you know?" The police chief had told him, but as far as he knew, Anna was out of earshot.

"I just don't see anyone being stupid enough to deliberately run someone off the road on a deserted highway in their own vehicle, then run away." She met his gaze. "Am I right?"

He sighed. "Yeah. You're right. Unfortunately."

She shifted in the seat. "So, do you have any idea . . .who would do such a thing?"

Skinner had several ideas on _exactly_ who would do such a thing. But, he kept those to himself. The less she knew, the better. "I'll . . . look into it. That's for sure."

He wasn't in the mood to discuss it, she could tell, so she fell silent. Not wanting to return to the uneasy silence between them, she reached out and took his hand. "I had a good time today. Despite the accident."

He didn't shrug off her touch. "And despite my inherent need to tell you my life history?"

She smiled softly in the darkness, the only light from the dashboard clock. "It was only fair. You know all about me. I had to up the ante a bit."

She saw him smile and congratulated herself for coaxing it out of him. "So, am I still invited to the boxing match tomorrow?"

He'd almost forgotten. "Of course. Call me tomorrow, and I'll give you directions."

"I have to be at work at 5, so I probably can't stay long."

"That's . . . fine."

They fell silent again, and she almost asked him if he wanted to come inside, but then wondered if that was too forward. Not that she didn't want him to _think_ she didn't want to do anything. But, she wasn't sure if she should . . .

Before she realized it, he leaned over, and his lips were on hers. All thoughts of what was proper and right flew out of her head as she shifted in her seat, the seat belt digging into her side as she tried to get as close as she could despite the console between them.

They were both gasping for air when they broke away, Anna feeling like she was 16 again. She could see the desire in his eyes and just knew he could hear her heart pounding in the now-stuffy interior.

He reached out and pushed her hair out of her face gently. It was probably the late hour and the emotional roller coaster they had ridden all day that made him a little more open than usual. "I've never told you how beautiful you are, have I?"

Her eyes widening momentarily, surprised at his remark. For one thing, it was out-of-place for him to spout such sentiment. Until now, she hadn't realized that she had grown accustomed to his no-nonsense approach.

"Since today I've jumped out of a plane and been run off the road by a tricked-out truck, that surely is a compliment."

* * *

"You love this man, don't you?"

Anna propped the phone between her cheek and her shoulder, folding a towel as she talked. "Granny, does it matter?"

"It should matter. To him." Her grandmother's matter-of-fact logic came through loud and clear over the line.

"He doesn't exactly . . . know."

"Oh, pish-posh!"

"For that matter, I don't know if I really know if I do or not. It's . . . different than it was with Allen."

"Love is love is love." Her grandmother was always good for an attentive ear.

Anna plopped down on the couch next to the pile of unfolded clothes. "With Allen, it was almost . . . well . . . expected of us. Plus, we had known each other all of our lives, so it was easy to have those sorts of feelings for him. It was almost as if we knew what the other was thinking. But, with Walter, it's . . . it's . . ." She struggled for words. "It's like a roller coaster ride. One minute, everything's fine, and the next, he's retreated into this world he's created for himself where no one can touch him or get to him in any way. It's . . . galling!"

Granny chuckled. "Sounds like to me he's out of practice."

"I think that's just how he is." She curled her leg underneath her and reached for a magazine, thumbing through it. "And sometimes I wonder . . ." She trailed off, tossing the magazine aside.

"You wonder if what you're feeling isn't some sort of emotion based on the fact you saved his life and he yours?"

Anna couldn't help but smile. "You always were one for cutting through the bull, you know, Granny?"

"That's right, dear. Life's too short to do anything else. And, for the record, I think that's a bunch of malarkey. You've found someone that makes your toes curl and your heart race, and you're trying to talk yourself out of it."

"There's more to it than that. His job . . . there's all sorts of things he's not telling me, and I doubt he ever will."

"He's hiding behind that badge, Anna. You know it. I know it. Hell, he probably even knows it."

"I can't change him! He is who he is. And, you didn't tell Mom, did you?"

"She knows you're seeing someone, but no, I didn't give her the gory details. You know how she worries."

Anna nodded. Boy, did she ever! She reached for her glass of tea she'd made earlier and sipped.

Her grandmother kept chattering. "Besides, there are a few more gory details I want to know about. Like, is he good in the sack?"

Anna choked. "Good Lord Almighty!"

Her grandmother wasn't to be deterred. "Well? Is he?"

Anna set her glass down with a thunk. "I wouldn't know."

"Tsk, tsk," the older woman made disapproving sounds. "You're not getting any younger, girl. You better grab it by the horns while you can. Take it from an old bird who wishes she still had someone to light her fire – get him in the sack. Wear him out. Have him beggin' for more."

"_Granny_!" Anna sputtered through her laughter. "What if he doesn't want to sleep with me? I can't make him do something he doesn't want to do!"

"Pshaw! The man grovels for your forgiveness, teaches you how to shoot and takes you skydiving. A man after my own heart. If he doesn't want to sleep with you, then, hon, I couldn't tell you what he wants. Or he's gay."

Anna thought about the desire she saw in his eyes. "Anyone can have sex, Granny. The bartender at _Gordo's_ would sleep with me in a heartbeat. But, I think . . . it might go deeper than that. He actually . . . opened up to me yesterday. About things that had happened to him before. Things that – I was under the impression – he didn't share with very many people."

"And, he invited you to that boxing thing. See? He does want you in his life. He just has a roundabout way of letting you know."

"I don't think Allen and I ever fought, but I can get so _angry_ with him, Granny."

"Good. Makes it spicy in the sack."

Anna laughed aloud again.

"Now, you better get off this phone. You've got to have better things to do than sit and talk to an old woman like me."

"I love you, Gran."

"Love you, hon. Now go. Seduce your FBI man. Make him beg for mercy. You have Stanikowski genes in you. Use 'em!"

"I think you hoarded all those genes to yourself."

"You're stronger than you think, Anna. You've just never realized it."

Deep inside, Anna wished it as just that simple.

* * *

For a moment, Skinner almost thought she wouldn't show. Although, she had called him earlier in the day and asked for directions.

He fumbled in his gym bag until he found his cell phone. No messages.

Surely, she'd call if she changed her mind . . .

He shook his head at his own childish tendencies and against the headache that seemed to be forming right behind his eyes. Here he was, acting like a hormonal teenager, when he didn't act like a hormonal teenager when he actually was one!

Dangerous territory, to be sure. Despite all the warnings in his head telling him to back off, he couldn't help himself. He knew he was putting her in danger just by associating with her, but somehow, he pushed caution aside and denied that fact. He was tired of living his life as a pawn in their game. She made him forget all that with her smile and her soft words and those damn kissable lips of hers, her skin soft on his fingertips . . .

"You got something on your mind, Walt? Cause you sure ain't got yo' mind on this match here," his trainer argued.

Skinner shook him off, muttering something under his breath about minding his own damn business.

He looked up for the umpteenth time when the door opened, sunlight streaming in.

It was Anna. Looking fresh and new as she stood there, hesitantly looking around. When she spotted him, her face brightened, and she threw him a little wave.

"Oohhhhh. I see now." His trainer tsked from behind him. "Dames is always trouble."

Skinner finished warming up. "I think I'm more trouble to her than she is to me."

"Can't argue with that one, man."

After the first round started, he had to admit, he wasn't feeling quite up to his usual A game. Sluggish with blurry eyesight. But, Anna was there, cheering him on, so he had to put up a good fight, rather he wanted to or not. He'd fought this opponent before, and knew his weaknesses, but somehow he just couldn't act on them.

They went several rounds, sparring back and forth.

He won. But, just barely.

Anna was waiting for him outside the ring, almost as breathless as he was. "I have to admit, I never thought in a million years that would be so exciting!"

He pulled off his gloves and other protective gear, trying to catch his breath. "Would you have enjoyed it as much if I lost?"

"I have a feeling there's a right and wrong answer to that question." She gave him a coy smile, making him laugh.

Funny, he wasn't usually this winded. Wiping the sweat from his face, he pulled out a water bottle and downed the entire contents, splashing a little on himself to cool off. "I have another match in a little while. New guy. One I've never fought before."

"I hate I'll miss it, but I've got to get back across town. Gordo said he was shorthanded tonight, so it'll be a long one." She studied him closely as she talked, on the tip of her tongue to ask if he felt alright. He looked a little . . . off. His color was all wrong, and he seemed to be having a hard time catching his breath.

* * *

She was watching him. Looking at him.

She knew something was wrong.

Deep inside, he did, too. Spending most of his life in relatively good health, he wondered if old age was finally creeping up on him. He tried to ignore the fact, but truth was they were all dying one day at a time.

But, this was something different. A quickening in his veins, the momentary blurring of his vision.

A flicker of fear ran up his spine, but he mentally shoved it aside. _Don't be so silly. I'm alive as I ever could be._

Feeling the urge to prove it to himself and maybe to her, too, he pulled her into an unlit hallway near the door, out of sight of the others, and crushed his lips against hers. Desperate for comfort. Desperate to feel alive in a world that had suddenly gone out-of-control.

* * *

Anna didn't fight him. She didn't want to.

And, she didn't even care that they were in a very public place, just out-of-sight from the others who were continuing their workouts.

He was forceful, probing, as the scent of him - definitely all male – surrounded her, arousing her, as she clung to him, wondering what caused such a show of emotion.

But whatever the reason, he was damn glad he did.

He pulled away long before she was willing to let him go, just as breathless as he had been, if not more so.

She saw a glimpse of it in his eyes. Fear and apprehension, along with just plain need before he backed away.

"Something's wrong." She said it as if it were a statement of fact, not an accusation against his total inability to show emotion, to let people in. Her eyes never left his.

It was on the tip of his tongue. That he dreamed about her and thought about her and needed her by his side. She reminded him that not everything in the world was greedy, selfish and unfeeling, and he needed her to help him chase away the demons he fought daily, within and without.

But, silence was strength. And love and such emotion that goes with it only allowed for the weaknesses to show.

"It's nothing." _Liar_.

She studied him again, and her eyes narrowed. "Don't you even think about apologizing for kissing me. I'll knee you in the groin if I have to, since you're in a bit of a compromising position."

He chuckled, glad she lightened the moment, wishing he had that ability.

Surprising even him, she wrapped her arms around him, her head against his chest, listening to his heart beat, comforted in the knowledge that he wanted her to be right where she was.

* * *

He saw it all, and he had to admit, that little lady knew how to rock Skinner's world, that's for damn sure.

She should have come into his life earlier. Then, she might have actually got to enjoy him for awhile longer.

It had already started. The drug had been administered. He fingered the device in his pocket, revealing in the fact that he had total and complete control over another's life. It had been awhile since he'd wielded such power.

It was a heady emotion.

He admired the dame's figure as she walked out the door. Skinner even walked right by him, not giving him a second glance.

Well, he'd learn to pay attention.


	22. Chapter 22

Skinner would have liked to have been proven wrong. After Anna had left, and he had collapsed in the ring, even his doctor had told him it was all in his head, not missing the chance to tell him that he wasn't as young as he used to be.

Why did everyone see the need to point that out?

But, he could feel it. In his bones. There was something wrong.

When his phone rang, and the recorded voice echoed his thoughts, he almost laughed in relief.

He wasn't crazy. Something _was_ wrong. It had gotten inside his body and was invading it this very second. He wasn't imagining it.

But, he sure as hell wished he was.

* * *

The computer-generated voice didn't lie. In fact, twenty-four hours might be an exaggeration of his life span.

He trusted them. Scully and Mulder. He knew they would do the best they could to figure out who was doing this and why.

Although _what_ exactly it was seemed more important. The morphine drip couldn't keep up with the pain as this . . . this whatever it was that was causing his own blood to rebel against him hummed through his body with every beat of his heart. What was Scully calling it? Nanotechnology. That's it.

All he could do was lay there. Lay there and think as the machines beeped and whirred around him in the quiet little hospital room. Wonder just how in the world he got where he was.

This was not some disease that you picked up off the streets. And, just on the edge of his consciousness, he thought he could see who it was. To picture them in his mind. A face he'd run across more than usual in the past day.

Trying to remember the face kept his thoughts from straying to what got him here in the first place.

He'd tried his best to straddle the fence. The walk the thin line between what was and what should be. And maybe that was the final nail in his coffin.

He didn't choose.

If he had it to do over again, he would do it differently. Go more with his instinct that Mulder and Scully were right. They weren't the villains in all this as he was told to believe. They were seeking the truth, not for their own selfish reasons – well maybe Mulder did want to know what happened to his sister – but for the simple reason that it was the right thing to do.

He used to be like that. Before Vietnam and death and nightmares took away that faith. Mulder and Scully still had it, despite everything they'd been through. They had each other. They loved each other. Maybe not in the romantic sense that society deemed acceptable, but somewhere deeper. Some place most people never even realized existed in their hearts, their souls.

_Anna_.

He groaned and tried to rub his eyes, held back by the tubes running into his arms.

She knew something was wrong. She could sense it in his touch, by the look on his face. He'd never had someone read him as well as she had. He couldn't even have the guts to admit it to himself, but she knew.

He had balked when Scully wanted to call her. She'd argued, valid points, all of them.

But, he didn't want her here. To watch him die. She'd already lost too much, and he didn't want to add to her burdens, to get her more involved in a world he couldn't protect her from. Not when he was healthy, and certainly not now. It would break her heart when she found out he was gone, but he wouldn't be around to see it. He'd go to wherever the dead go to be judged for their sins.

But whatever he had to face, as long as he didn't have to look in her eyes and know that he caused the sadness, the pain, he could handle it.

* * *

Scully told him about the treatment. In that quiet, no-nonsense voice of hers. Removing his blood and replacing it had its risks, and she didn't fail to tell him. Wanted him to understand what he was getting into.

He told her to do what she had to do. It was his only option. And, the longer they went without hearing from Mulder, the more he knew this was all he had left.

And despite what everyone thought, he was terrified. The more intense the pain became, the more aware he was of his own mortality. He stared it down before and won, but this . . . this was different. He'd brought this judgment on himself, and he was now paying the price.

He needed Anna. As selfish as it was, he wanted her right here, to tell him it would be OK, that Mulder would find an anecdote, and he would be back to normal in no time. A longing for comfort hit him so hard, he struggled to catch his breath.

Scully was standing nearby, rifling through a chart. His vision was just about gone, but he knew she was there.

"Dana?"

Shuffling. "Yes?"

"Call her. Please."

* * *

Anna had finally gotten the twins to sleep. Libby and her husband were out enjoying a rare night out, and Anna volunteered for babysitting duty. And, it was easy at Libby's house because she didn't have to trot all the baby stuff halfway across the street to her own house.

"You'll let me know if they wake up, won't you boy?"

Nero thumped his tail on the floor as she walked by, his nose facing the twins' darkened door and settled in for the duration.

Anna sauntered to the kitchen and cleaned up from the twins' supper, which consisted of flying applesauce. Libby would find food in the strangest places for days to come, Anna knew from experience.

Somehow, it didn't hurt as much as it did when she thought about Scott.

Maybe her grandmother was right. It was time to move on.

Her nightmares hadn't been as persistent as they had lately. A few times, she'd even managed to sleep through the night, surprised when she awoke to the sun streaming in her window. When she closed her eyes, she didn't see all the blood and gore that had once been her family. Now, when she laid her head down at night, she thought about a man with brooding dark eyes who made her feel safe, who helped her out of her despair, who stood up for what he thought was right, rather he knew it or not.

And, she loved him for it. More sure of that now than anything.

She hadn't heard from him since yesterday at the gym, and briefly, she thought about calling him. See how his other match went. It gave her a good excuse, didn't it?

As she was reaching for her cell phone, it rang.

She put it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Anna? It's Dana Scully. I have something I need to tell you. . ."

* * *

Anna's heart pounded as she rushed through the entryway into the hospital.

Dana hadn't said as much, but Anna could hear it in her voice. Something was wrong.

Well, of course, something was wrong – he was in the freakin' hospital! But, it was something horribly, terribly wrong. It was the way she said, "Get down here. As soon as possible."

After hanging up the phone, hands trembling, Anna had called the elderly lady who lived in between her and Libby to watch the babies, after calling Libby and apologizing for abandoning them.

Libby told her not to worry about it. Mrs. Lowery had kept them several times, anyway. Plus, they were asleep, and Nero was on guard.

The elevator ride was excruciatingly long. Dana hadn't told her what to expect, only that he was in ICU, so her mind was running wild with possibilities.

When the doors finally ground open on the correct floor, Dana, wearing scrubs, was standing in the hallway waiting on her.

She met her halfway.

"What's going on? Was he shot? What's happening? Where is he?" Anna couldn't keep her frightened words from tumbling out.

When the agent gave her a look, it was one she recognized well. One she saw on every face of her friends and family after Allen and Scott were killed. The one look she moved halfway around the country to get away from.

And just like that, her heart plummeted.

Anna sank to a chair, grateful there was one nearby. She didn't think she'd be able to hold up much longer and put her head in her hands, giving herself a moment to compose herself.

She heard Dana sit next to her, waiting.

Anna's momentary bought of panic subsided enough for her to whisper, "Tell me."

She sat very still as she listened to the story about this disease and what little she and Mulder had uncovered about it. Very slowly and methodically, she told her what it was doing to his body, how they were trying to laser his veins open against a technology that worked faster than they could.

Anna wanted to stand up and fight, to scream, to do anything to stop it. She hadn't even seen him, and already, she was scared at what she'd find.

"Who would do such a thing?" Anna finally asked, glad her voice didn't shake with the raw fear running through her own veins.

Exhausted, Dana took a deep breath and told her about the man with the long hair and the beard Mulder had seen in the hallway. And, who'd rescued Walter with his car from the gunman, although they had no clue as to why he'd do such a thing, only to hurt him this way.

Anna's mind was humming, processing what she'd just heard, trying to make sense of it all in her head.

"At the gym! That man was _there_!" Anna's eyes were wide, trying to remember herself. "I was there . . . earlier . . . before he . . .you said he collapsed."

Scully perked up. "Do you remember if he got close? What was he doing?"

Anna shut her eyes, trying to fight her fear to remember. He was standing in the shadows most of the time, watching. Anna hadn't even realized she'd seen him until now. "No. No, I don't. But . . ." She took a deep breath. "I think he ran us off the road two days ago. Just south of here. In a stolen truck." Anna told her about seeing the man in her window before he sprinted off. "Walter never saw him. Only me."

Scully rubbed her temples, at a loss. "Why would he try to run him off the road if he had plans to do this instead? If it is him . . ." Honestly, they didn't know.

"I think it was a warning."

"For what?"

"I . . . don't know. But . . . somehow . . . I think you do."

"Are you saying I'm hiding something from you?" Scully was a little incredulous.

Anna shook her head. "I think, it's something . . . something you're working on. Something you've gotten too close to."

Scully sighed. "That could be any number of things. Any number of files. And, he has other agents that work under him . . ."

"But, he's closer to the two of you," Anna interrupted.

Scully just stared at her.

"You know I'm right," Anna had to add.

"Has he told you about . . . any of it?"

Anna snorted. "Told me? What little I know about him I've almost had to beat out of him. I just know. He's done things for you – and for Mulder – that he would never do for anyone else. He trusts you, Dana. Both of you."

Scully thought about the words Skinner had said to her earlier, telling her he'd have done things differently, would have chosen a different path.

"You should have been an agent. You're more perceptive than even Mulder can be at times."

Anna's thoughts were already straying, and she didn't comment. "Can I . . . see him?"

Scully nodded once, her red hair bobbing.

Anna took a deep breath, steeling herself. "Is he . . . will he . . . know me?"

"He's in and out, but still fairly lucid. The pain medication. He's been asking for you . . ." Scully gave her a reassuring smile as they walked down the hallway towards his room.

Dana had warned what this nanotechnology was doing his body, but it still didn't steel her enough when she actually saw him through the glass.

"Oh . . ." Anna put her hand against her mouth. As his blood thickened, it became visible through his skin, every vein outlined harshly all along his body.

Scully gave her a moment to compose herself, glad Anna wasn't one for theatrics. She watched as Anna took a couple of deep breaths. Although Scully wasn't sure what the relationship was between this woman and her assistant director, they had formed a bond that even Mulder couldn't deny.

As Scully watched, Anna squared her jaw and raised her head, her eyes vacant of tears, reaching for the door knob.

Scully turned away. There was nothing more she could do now.

* * *

Anna listened to the whir and beep of the machines. It was a sound she remembered well from her stint in the hospital. A sound she associated with pain and suffering. And death.

He wasn't on a respirator, still breathing on his own. A good sign. Slowly, she made her way to his bedside, not wanting to wake him, but wanting him to know she was there, all at the same time.

Watching his chest rise and fall, she felt more alone than she ever had in a long time.

Carefully, she settled in a chair across from his bed. He didn't even look like himself, and she wondered why he waited so long to call her. Did he think he'd heal and never tell her what had happened?

Mentally shoving those thoughts aside, she chided herself, taking his hand carefully in her own. None of that mattered.

It still felt the same. Warm. Rough. Strong, despite his weakened state.

_He's going to die._

An anger like she'd never felt before in her life surged through her, rivaling her anger at the drunk who had forever altered her life almost two years ago.

_If I could get my hands on whoever did this to him . . ._

* * *

Somehow, he knew she was there. It could have been her perfume, that light scent that seemed to follow her wherever she went. But, it was more a sense of her that he had drawn accustomed to, the feeling of peace that she gave him as she grasped his hand in her own.

The ever-present pain pounded through his body as he opened his eyes slowly. The light was dim, which helped his eyes, although his vision was still blurry.

She radiated anxiety, although he couldn't quite make out her face.

"It's bad, isn't it?" he said, almost in a whisper. Whatever this damn disease was, it was taking his voice along with it.

Still clasping his hand, she picked it up, resting her forehead against it for a moment, trying to find that reserve of strength she knew was deep. "Mulder's trying to find out what it is." She sounded so hopeful, a hint of desperation in her voice.

It was harder to breathe, and he coughed once, startling her. "I didn't want you to see me like this."

"It doesn't matter. . ." Her voice broke, and he could see the sheen of tears on her cheeks.

Despite the constant throbbing through his veins, he reached over with his other hand and touched her face gently with the backs of his fingers. "You should have never . . . been involved in any of this. With me."

A sob broke through her carefully-constructed façade of hope as he stroked her cheek softly. "I'd have . . .have given you that aspirin and that ice pack anyway. Even if I knew . . .about this."

He managed a small laugh, despite the pain in his chest, his hand she wasn't clutching falling back to his side. "I never meant to hurt you . . ."

"And you haven't!" she said, a little more forcibly that necessary. "It's those . . . whoever did this to you that hurts. You don't deserve this, no matter what it is you think you've done." She sniffed, wiping her eyes on her sleeve.

He took a ragged breath, and she flinched at the sound, biting her tongue to keep more tears from falling. Tears would do him no good. Would do her no good. They couldn't change a thing, despite their intentions. She knew that. Lord knows she'd shed enough of them in her life.

He drifted back into unconsciousness, and she sat there, clutching his hand, praying until the nurse came in to move him to another room to start the treatments Scully had prescribed.

* * *

Anna didn't know what time it was as she sat in a chair on the other side of the room and watched. The treatment wasn't working. That was all she knew. He could no longer speak and had trouble breathing, but he fought off the doctor and the nurses until she moved to his side, speaking to him soothingly until he calmed, his eyes, full of fear, searching hers.

She'd never seen him afraid, and it disturbed her, but made her realize she'd have to be strong. For both of them.

The longer Mulder stayed gone, the more hope she lost. Until everything seemed to be riding on him taking another breath. Then another. She watched his chest rise and fall, willing him on, just as she was willing Mulder to find something. Anything.

She must have drifted off because the frenetic beeping of the machines startled her. Quickly, she was on her feet, the doctors and nurses working frantically while all she could do was stay rooted in front of the chair, heart beating wildly.

Somewhere on the edge of her senses, she heard the doctor demand someone call Special Agent Scully.

Unseen hands escorted her from the room, and she didn't have the energy to fight them, to struggle, to demand to stay by his side. She should have called Dana herself, but her shaking hands wouldn't cooperate as she stared through the window at the drama unfolding, willing him to live, but knowing, deep down, that it was too late.

It was too late . . .

The sound of the heart monitor with its long, monotonous tone cut into her soul like a knife. She wanted to pound on the window, to demand they do something. _Anything_! But, all she could do was rigidly clasp and unclasp her fists, her sorrow outweighing any other emotion.

It was too late.

Not able to face the sight of him being covered with a sheet, she whirled around, fist against her mouth to keep from screaming out against the unfairness of it all.

_No, no, no, no_, _NO_! She wanted to lash out, to fight, but couldn't muster the energy.

He _didn't_ deserve this! It shouldn't _be_ like this!

She'd lost him. She'd opened herself up to someone else, and she'd lost him just like Allen.

With her back against the wall, all she could do was sink slowly to the floor, succumbing to the silent sobs that wracked her body, the one long tone that signaled the end of the line echoing in her heart.

* * *

He had long since stopped feeling the type of remorse normal people would feel if they had inflicted pain upon a fellow human being. As he watched her sink to the floor, unaware of his presence, his body was humming with adrenaline, the power brought on by what he had done.

He could take away life. And he could give it.

Not only that, he could cause this woman he didn't even know so much sorrow, yet reverse it with a flick of his wrist.

With an evil glint in his eyes, waiting to the last possible moment, he moved the lever on the device in his palm.

The shocked expressions on the faces of the staff who had just declared him legally dead were well-worth the wait.

He made sure Skinner, still gasping for breath, got a glimpse of him before he faded into the background, exhilarated with what he had just attempted and ready to start the next phase of his plan.

* * *

She thought it was her imagination, wishful thinking playing a cruel trick on her.

She could have sworn the heart monitor started beeping again.

Holding her breath and trying to stifle her sobs, she listened for a moment, wiping tears from her face.

The shocked tone of the voices coming from his room had her scrambling to her feet.

Disbelieving what she was seeing, she impatiently brushed the tears from her eyes.

He was . . . alive?

That couldn't be! She saw him stop breathing! His unseeing eyes. She knew the doctor had called time of death.

As the doctors and nurses scurried about, he turned his head, his eyes meeting hers briefly as he still struggled to breathe.

She could still lose him. Not now, but maybe tomorrow. Or even the next hour. Was the disease gone? Had it played its cruel tricks only to lie dormant?

And just who in the hell was doing this to begin with?

Not that she wouldn't take her blessings where she could get them. He was alive right now, his gaze never leaving her face as once again, tears streamed down her cheeks unchecked.

She didn't even notice the man with the long hair and beard watching her for a moment before climbing on the elevator at the end of the hall.


	23. Chapter 23

Tonygirl says . . . Merry Christmas! Here's wishing all of you peace, love . . . and tractors! Lots of pretty GREEN ones :-)

* * *

"You are going _down_!"

"Oh yeah? Bring it on, then!"

Anna's eyes were locked on the screen as her pink and yellow race car careened around the curve, just inches behind Mulder's green and blue one. Narrowing her eyes in concentration, her fingers steady on the controls, she figured Mulder had finally found a way to beat her after three straight times of getting stomped.

He whooped aloud as he crossed the finish line inches ahead of her and climbed to his feet, doing a victory dance around Skinner's couch, much to Nero's amusement as he frolicked along behind.

Anna tossed her control aside, rolling her eyes at his theatrics. "I think you're what qualifies as a 'sore winner,' Mulder."

"At least I didn't shout something about 'in your face, creep!' like you did," he studiously pointed out. "Plus, since this is your machine, I think you've had more practice than me!"

Anna made a face, sticking her tongue out and crossing her arms in mock disgust. "You men! You're all alike. If you don't win every little thing, it's an insult to your manhood."

Mulder looked amused. "I thought you had a brother and understood how this works."

She rose to her feet, stretching unused muscles. "This is my brother's game. He let me have it for when he visits me, so he won't be bored out of his mind. Video games are his life. And girls. And fast cars."

"But, not fast girls?"

She threw a pillow at him from the couch. "He's too young for that!"

"Give him time," Mulder laughed and ducked.

"I've got to get to work. Gordo's sympathy for me just ran dry. Hey, thanks for agreeing to stay over here and keep an eye on him."

"I don't need a babysitter. Especially you, Agent Mulder." Skinner couldn't help it. He was tired of being cooped up in his apartment.

Mulder and Anna both turned around. "You didn't sleep long," Anna commented.

"I'm tired of sleeping. And resting. And taking it easy." _Just call me Grumpy_. "And, I _don't_ need a babysitter."

Anna rolled her eyes at Mulder, making sure she was out of Walter's sight.

Mulder grinned. "If it makes you feel any better, sir, I'm not doing it for you."

Skinner crossed his arms over his chest. "Oh, really?"

"She bribed me. With brownies." He winked at Anna, as Skinner rolled his eyes.

"Now, you have to share them with Dana, remember?"

Mulder pouted.

"I promised her you'd bring her some." Anna was already dressed for work, and she finally found her shoes underneath the kitchen table, slipping them on.

It was amazing how fast she made herself at home in Walter's apartment.

"Yeah, she'd probably kick me in the keester with those little legs of hers if I didn't. That woman loves her sweets."

"What woman doesn't?" Anna hunted for her purse, finding it underneath the pillow she'd tossed at Mulder.

Skinner shot Mulder a dirty look as he admired her backside. Sheepishly, Mulder looked away as Skinner walked her to the door.

"I don't need him here with me," he argued, trying to keep his voice low.

Anna rummaged in her purse for her keys. "If I'm not mistaken, this is the first time you've even attempted to go down the stairs since I managed to get you up them three days ago. Despite what you may think, you're not 100 percent, and I'm not going to have something happen to you while you're here all alone."

He sighed. "But . . . Mulder?"

"He offered. And be nice." She gave him a look that told him he better or else, then broke into a smile. "I have to admit, you do look like you're feeling much better. Maybe tomorrow night, you can stay by yourself."

"Imagine that. A grown man staying by himself in his own apartment. Whoever would think?" he said sarcastically.

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "If you don't need someone to stay with you, maybe you don't need me here, either."

"I . . . didn't exactly mean that."

She grinned. "I'll be back after midnight. I think Mulder's leaving a little before I get here."

"Good."

Standing on tip-toes, she kissed him on the cheek and was gone.

Mulder walked around the corner, mouth full of brownie. "Mf glb irtinh si hiql db jie losvs, yplir a bvlucy jav."

"Can you at least manage to swallow your food before you speak? Or is that too much to ask?" Skinner asked, as he shut the door behind her.

Mulder chewed and swallowed obediently. "If she kisses as good as she cooks, you're one lucky man."

Skinner didn't know rather to laugh or throw him off his balcony.

* * *

Anna unlocked the door, greeted by Nero as he padded towards her, tail wagging. The apartment was dark, only a lamp in the living room dimly lighting the area.

"Hey, boy! You need to go for a walk?" She had a hard time finding a place for that in the middle of town where Walter's apartment was, but she sure wasn't going to leave him at her house.

Nero yawned and sat down, clearly uninterested.

"Mulder must have walked you before he left."

Nero thumped his tail once as Anna removed her shoes, rubbing her sore feet. She hadn't worked for a week, and it surprised her how out-of-practice she could get.

Although she liked to have something to keep her busy. It kept her mind off problems in her life she had no business mulling over.

Someone had actually cleaned up the kitchen, and Anna shook her head, figuring that was most certainly not Mulder. His cleaning skills left much to be desired, and she knew Dana was a saint for putting up with it in their shared office. And otherwise.

Anna often wondered about the 'otherwise.'

After telling Nero to stay, she quietly climbed the stairs and peeked into Walter's room. He was sound asleep, and she listened to his quiet, even breathing for a moment before shutting the door softly behind her.

Changing into a T-shirt and shorts, she padded back down the stairs to the couch that had served as her sleeping quarters for the past few nights. The apartment had two bedrooms, but the other had a punching bag hanging in the middle of the room. So, she'd opted for the couch.

She thought about watching television for a moment, but decided against it. Nero laid down on the floor at her feet, groaning as he stretched out.

"I agree with you there, boy," she muttered, her own muscles aching.

This was the time she dreaded the most. Her body was exhausted, but her mind wouldn't shut off, humming along with one thought after another.

He was getting better. Amazingly enough. Dana said his blood count was returning to near normal, and there was almost no sign of the disease that had quickly ravaged his body. The only remaining symptom was exhaustion. It had taken a toll on him, but he seemed to be slowly regaining his strength. The doctor had even told him he could return to light duty in a couple of days.

Honestly, he didn't need her after the first days of his recovery. And, he sure hadn't made any move to keep her here. Probably tomorrow she could go back home.

And then . . .what?

He'd been distant, and Anna tried to chalk it up to what he had been through. She'd seen more emotion in him in that hospital bed than she ever had, but now, he'd retreated back into himself. She didn't try to coax it out of him. It wasn't the right time. He didn't seem to want to discuss what had happened, so she kept mum about that, too.

One step forward and two steps back. That seemed to be how they operated.

Frustrating.

No one seemed to know why the disease mysteriously retreated.

Anna didn't care, as long as he was alive.

Although part of her was afraid it would return. His improved health could be an allusion, and all of that could be taken away by the flipping of a switch. As she tossed and turned, she realized that is exactly what it seemed like. One minute, he's dead, and the next alive. Just like magic.

But, that was silly.

Wasn't it?

The deeper she found herself into this world of his, the more she wondered.

* * *

Anna didn't know it, but the past few nights, he'd crept down the stairs and watched her sleep.

Sure, it sounded creepy. And, it didn't start off like that. The first time, he'd gingerly made his way to the kitchen for something to drink, needing a break from the shadows haunting his dreams, when he saw her lying on the couch, leg thrown out from underneath the blanket, arm hanging off the couch.

She looked so peaceful, even more beautiful with her hair tousled from sleep.

He'd stood there in the entryway from the kitchen just staring, forgetting exactly what it was he'd come down there to do.

Nero glanced up when he walked softly into the room, instantly alert.

"It's OK, Nero. Lay down."

With one tail thump, Nero obediently put his head between his paws and sighed, instantly asleep.

The dog trusted him with her.

Funny, because he didn't trust himself with her.

He always was an early riser, normally going for a jog before the streets were crowded with people starting their own days, but such exercise had been put on the backburner. Instead, he contented himself with watching her sleep.

Who knew such a simple act could arouse so many emotions?

But, she wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for what happened to him.

He knew it was Krychek. So far, he hadn't heard from the man, but expected that to change. He would make sure the cretin knew that hurting Anna was out. This was between the two of them.

How could he protect her when he obviously couldn't even protect himself?

He'd told Scully he would have chosen a different path. And he would have. If he had a choice. But, Krychek had altered the game, and now he was at his mercy, a place he would never have wanted to be.

It would only get worse - that he knew.

Sure, he'd told her about his past, but he didn't want her to know about the conspiracy he, Mulder and Scully were just beginning to understand.

As he watched her, he knew he couldn't do that to her. It was a terrifying thought, and she should be shielded from such things. She'd seen enough horror in her own life to be burdened with his.

Each night, he wrestled with these decisions, and each night, he came to the same conclusion – there was no right answer. Frustrating to him, since he was accustomed to dealing with right and wrong, black and white.

All he knew was that he still wanted her.

Wearily ascending the stairs each night, he crawled back under the covers. Alone.

And wishing he didn't recognize that aloneness for what it was.

* * *

It was almost like living with a brick wall. She couldn't get him to talk about anything significant, only small things that didn't matter – the weather, her dog, Mulder's crazy fascination with her cooking.

Her close-knit family and friends never had to wheedle and beg to get anything out of anyone. They trusted each other, confided in each other, leaned on each other.

It was frustrating. And sad. He didn't trust her with whatever was going through his mind.

She took little comfort in the fact that he didn't trust anybody. That meant he put her on the same level as anyone else he knew.

Although it did warm her heart a bit when he drew her against him for the best kiss they'd shared since he'd come home from the hospital as she was leaving for work the next day – the lunch shift.

At least his libido was back in order.

It still didn't help her figure out what to do. She and Allen communicated so much better, but then again, they knew each other from childhood years. Sure, she could read Walter's moods, but she wanted him to at least tell her what he was feeling instead of letting her figure it out for herself.

The elevator opened, and Anna paused to let an older man step off.

"Good morning," he said, voice gravelly.

"Good morning," she replied out of habit.

When the elevator doors shut behind her, she could smell the cigarette smoke in the air, waving her hand in front of her face to try and dispense it quicker.

If someone smoked like that on his floor, she'd have known. The entire floor would reek of it.

* * *

Gee. I wonder who _this_ could be . . .


	24. Chapter 24

Tonygirl says . . . Merry Christmas! Here's wishing all of you peace, love . . . and tractors! Lots of pretty GREEN ones :-) Hee!

* * *

Skinner had retreated to the balcony. The view was stunning. He paid dearly for it each month, so he better enjoy it.

He knew he should talk to her, but damned if he knew how to start. She needed to know none of it, and if he just told her bits and pieces, he knew he'd wind up telling her the story from start to finish.

It kept nagging at him that he would lose her if he didn't figure it out. Was it worth it? To keep her safe and in the dark about what was going on? Could he sacrifice his happiness and watch her walk away?

Her looked at Nero at his feet, lounging in the sun.

Of course, the dog didn't have any answers, either.

Skinner tried to read the paper, but after reading the same two sentences over and over without having a clue to what they said, he folded it and sat it aside.

Maybe his trainer was right. Women were nothing but trouble.

Nero raised his head, staring back inside the apartment through the open door. Probably someone in the hallway. The dog had impeccable hearing.

But, when the animal rose to his feet, growling menacingly with his hackles raised, Skinner knew he was in trouble.

And, of course, he was out here with no weapon whatsoever. Carefully, he stood, all senses on alert, as Nero advanced towards the open bay doors and the figure within.

"Didn't take you for a dog owner, Mr. Skinner," the gravelly voice said, its owner materializing in the doorway. He looked calm and cool as ever, despite having a huge dog snarling at him just feet away.

"What in the _hell_ are you doing here?" Skinner asked.

"No one answered the door when I knocked."

"Probably because you aren't welcome."

The man they had labeled CSM shrugged, unconcerned. "I can always make myself at home in any situation." He lit up a cigarette, taking a deep drag and tossing the extinguished match over the side of the balcony. "Don't make me shoot her dog. I'm sure she wouldn't take too kindly to it."

Skinner stared at him for a moment. "Nero. Down."

Obediently, Nero laid on his stomach, front paws outstretched, but he wouldn't stop growling.

Skinner knew how he felt.

CSM made a face. "Impressive. So, does she train you just as well?"

Skinner could feel his blood pressure go through the roof, along with the first vestiges of an emotion he'd recently grown accustomed to - fear. "Leave her out of this."

He took another drag, smoke haloing his grey head. "Saw her on the elevator. She's a little young for you, don't you think?"

Skinner curbed the urge to throw the man off his balcony. Just the thought that he had gotten that close to him made him see red. "What do you want?"

"I wanted to see how you were fairing after your little health scare." He made a tsking noise. "Terrible thing. Could've been tragic."

"What do you care?" If he could snarl at this man like the dog, he would have at this point.

"That's what I've come to discuss. I was wondering if you were aware of who exactly was behind your health issues. Mmmm? Any ideas?" He stubbed out his cigarette on the hand rail, leaving a burn mark in the wood. He had a few ideas, but nothing concrete.

"Since you seem to know everything that goes on, I don't see why you need to ask me." _That's right. All I'd have to do is pick him up by the neck and toss him over . . ._

CSM shrugged. "Since you've shown yourself to be of little use to me, I've lost track of any dealings with you. Until now." He reached in his pocket, producing another cigarette, lighting it much the same way as he did the first.

Skinner stared. "You really have no clue who did this, do you?"

"Do you think I'd waste my time asking you if I didn't?" He moved a step closer to Skinner, and Nero's growls, which had ceased, resumed. "I might be able to help you with a cure, you know. I have friends in high places."

"I wouldn't beg for your help if you had the cure right here in your nicotine-stained hands." He'd gone down that path before, and he'd be damned if he did it again.

He chuckled lightly, clearly amused. "Not wanting to risk any favors, huh, Mr. Skinner?"

* * *

It was the smoke that gave it away.

Anna was in the parking garage before it hit her. She had to fumble to keep from dropping her keys.

The man from the Jefferson Memorial! Who had threatened Mulder and had something to do with Scully's cancer!

And maybe even Walter's.

Running on autopilot, she sprinted back to the elevator and slapped the button for the 17th floor.

Thankfully, it didn't stop on the way up.

She didn't know what she was doing, but she sure wasn't going to leave Walter in there at this man's mercy. Not after she'd almost lost him.

The apartment door was cracked, and she could hear voices over the pounding of blood in her ears.

Carefully, she opened it. They were on the balcony, a heated discussion underway, Nero lying at attention at Walter's feet.

Quietly, she opened the drawer where she knew Walter's revolver was stored.

The clip was full.

Taking a deep breath, she advanced on the two men, aiming the weapon intently at the back of the stranger's head.

"I don't know who the hell you are, but get out."

Even to Anna, her voice sounded alien.

Skinner looked up as CSM turned around, clearly unperturbed at this new development.

Nero woofed a greeting at his feet.

But, Skinner's stomach plummeted.

Anna had his weapon pointed right at the older man's chest.

"Get out," she said, her voice devoid of emotion.

CSM blew smoke out of his nose, reminding her momentarily of Gertie. "I'm impressed. Not only does she have great legs, but she can wield your weapon to her advantage."

Having no patience at all, Anna barked a command in German, and Nero jumped to his feet, advancing on the older man, snarling and snapping.

CSM raised an eyebrow, his eyes on the dog. "Now, I'm _really_ impressed. I haven't heard that in years."

Anna narrowed her eyes. "If you don't get out right now, you can take your pick. Me or the dog."

He eyed Nero suspiciously, then flicked his eyes in her direction. "You wouldn't shoot an old man, would you?"

"Try me."

"I was just leaving." He flicked his cigarette over the balcony. "Think about my offer, Mr. Skinner."

Anna backed up and kept the gun trained on him as he sauntered towards the door, without a care in the world, although Nero stayed within a foot of him, still snarling. He calmly shut it with a click behind him.

Anna blinked, then remembered to call Nero down like Allen taught her. The dog obediently sat, staring at the door wistfully, almost as if he would have liked to sink his teeth into the man's liver.

But, she still stood with the gun trained on the door, her mind reeling with what she had just done, wondering if she helped or hindered the situation.

_Offer? Just what offer was he talking about?_

She jumped when a hand reached out and took the gun from her, almost forgetting he was even there.

Walter sat it aside and pulled her into his arms. She could feel his heart pounding against her cheek as she pressed against him, some of the tension easing away

"That was the man in the picture I took." Her voice was muffled against his shirt.

"I know." His fingers curled through her hair to caress the skin on the back of her neck.

"Why did you let him in?"

"He let himself in."

She pulled away to look at thim. "You mean, he _broke_ in?"

"He's good at that." He tried to lead her to the couch, mainly because he didn't think his own legs would hold him up any longer, let alone them both.

But, she balked, backing away from him. "Did _he_ do this to you? Is _he_ the one who gave you that awful disease?" Her green eyes were dark with fury.

Momentarily taken aback by her reaction, he shook his head. "He wanted to know who did it."

She threw her hands up in disgust, starting to pace. "But, _why_? Why does any of this matter? Why do they – whoever 'they' are - want to hurt you?"

"I . . . can't tell you."

She stopped pacing and whirled around to face him, suddenly livid. "You _can't_ tell me or you _won't_?"

He took a step closer to her, his voice low. "I'm not going to let you get involved. These people are worse than anything you can imagine."

"Oh, I can imagine enough already." She ticked them off on her fingers. "They gave Scully her cancer, tried to kill you several times and have something to do with killing Scully's sister and the disappearance of Mulder's, although for the life of me, I can_not_ figure out what is _going on_!" Her voice rose until she was practically yelling.

His voice held a hint of warning as he grasped her arms firmly in his hands to get her attention. "I'm telling you. You _don't_ need to know."

"But, I _want_ to know! I want to know why you've almost died for this and why you wake up in a cold sweat each night and why you insist on hiding behind your badge and your desk and clamming up each time I even come close to wanting to _talk_ about it!"

Her voice tugged at his heart. Dangerous territory. Desperately, he tried to get her to understand, his fingers digging into her flesh more than necessary. "If I tell you, it can put you into more danger than you're already in."

"It's worth it." Her voice was firm.

"No, it's _not_! _Nothing's_ worth your life!" He wanted to shake her for her stubbornness, but she jerked out of his grasp, rubbing her forearms as she stared at him.

"Is it worth yours?" she asked quietly, but didn't wait for an answer. "I watched you die on that table, Walter. You were _dead_! It was like . . . like another part of me had been ripped out. At least with Allen and Scott I understood what had happened on some level and accepted it, but I have _no damn clue_ what's going on here!"

They hadn't talked about it, and to hear her say those words made him flinch. He knew she'd gone through emotional hell, but hadn't even thought to ask her about it. It showed weakness to care so much for another. And, he cared for her. "If I can keep you away from them, I'll do anything. Anything at all within my power, and even some things that aren't. Can't you understand that?"

"It's _my_ choice to make! I am _not_ a child you can protect and hide the truth from with pretty words and promises! And, I _want_ to be right here, right where I'm at. Because, I love you, dammit! But, it just seems too hard for you to accept love from _anybody_!"

They stared at each other for a moment, realizing the words that tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them.

She started for the door. "Nero. Come."

Her dog, who had watched the entire exchange almost as if he could understand what was being said, sprung to his feet.

He had to stop her. "Anna, wait . . ."

"_No_! I'm _tired_ of waiting. I'm tired of you hiding behind your twisted sense of strength . And, I'm _not_ going to do it anymore. I'll get answers my own way."

She slammed the door so hard that a picture fell of the wall, glass shattering everywhere.

He should have gone after her. But, he didn't. For his own good or for her own, he didn't know, but his feet stayed rooted to the floor.

* * *

Answers, answers. Guess who has the answers? ;-)

And, how many times did that man have a gun pointed at his head, anyway?


	25. Chapter 25

References to several different episodes over several different seasons.

* * *

From the bottom of her purse, she managed to find the card one of the Lone Gunmen had slipped her. Probably Frohike. The man was persistant, she'd give him that.

She'd called Gordo and told him she wouldn't be in, promising to work a double the next day as she tried to find the street.

He hadn't argued mainly because her tone dared him to.

It was almost like an obsession. She had to find out what was going on, for her own sanity as much as anything.

And she knew just who to ask.

Within 15 minutes, she was pounding on the unobtrusive door in a questionable neighborhood, "The Lone Gunmen" stenciled on it in black letters.

"Who in the hell is that?" Mulder asked, looking up from the computer screen he'd been engrossed in for the last hour.

"Sounds like the hounds of hell, if you ask me," Langley commented, looking bored. It wasn't unusual to have extremely hostile unexpected visitors. Hence the locks on the door.

"Close. It's the cupcake lady," Frohike commented, studying the surveillance video. "And, she looks mad as hell."

Langley brightened. "Does she have any cupcakes?"

"No, but she's got that damn dog with her," Frohike frowned.

Byers undid all the bolts and locks, and she stormed through, Nero at her heels. She halted in the middle of the floor, arms crossed, all four men staring at her.

"I want answers, and I want them _now_!"

"Join the club, sweetheart," Langley drawled.

"What's wrong?" Byers asked, touching her back. He could tell she'd been crying. He was a sucker for a woman in tears.

She waved him off impatiently. "I want to know what in the hell is going on! I'm sick and tired of being kept in the dark like some sort of delicate woman who has to protected, and I _won't_ do it anymore! And, all of you are going to tell me!" Frustrated, she stopped to take a breath, and Nero pressed against her leg, trying to comfort her.

They stared at her.

"Skinner won't like it," Frohike pointed out.

"He's not the information police." Anna flopped down in the only chair not piled with magazines and pizza boxes, arms crossed. She wasn't going anywhere.

Mulder propped his elbows on the table. "You mean, you don't . . . know?"

Anna looked at him incredulously. "You've _got_ to be kidding me! You've known the man longer than I have, so you _know_ how he is!"

"I just thought that . . . well . . . the two of you . . ." he waved his hand around, looking for the right words, "were closer than that."

She set her steely gaze on Mulder. "I did, too." Biting the inside of her lip to keep her chin from trembling, she looked away. _C'mon, girl. Don't you dare cry in front of these guys._

"I dunno . . ." Byers started, then stopped when she shot him a dirty look.

"The cupcake lady's right. She deserves to know." Frohike leaned back in his chair as it creaked in protest.

"Hell, everyone deserves to know, they just don't wanna hear it. She _wants_ to hear it. So, how can we keep it from her?" Langley added.

"But, guys, don't you think there's a reason he's not telling her?" Byers argued.

"Yeah. He's a hard ass," Frohike rolled his eyes.

Mulder chuckled at his accurate assessment.

"He has this delusion that if what I don't know won't hurt me," Anna added, throwing up her hands. "But, that's _crazy_! What I don't know _has_ already hurt me! Just watching him in that hospital bed was enough . . ." She clamped her mouth shut, biting her tongue until she tasted blood.

They all exchanged looks. Finally, Mulder leaned back, putting his hands on the back of his head. "Fine. Where do you want to start?"

"Who's the man in the picture I took? The one who was smoking?"

"Oooo. She picked a good one," Langley rubbed his hands together gleefully.

Mulder made a face. "Can't you start with something a little simpler?"

"He came by Walter's apartment this morning."

Their eyes all got big.

She took it as an invitation to continue. "He was getting off the elevator and I was getting on it going to work. It didn't . . . hit me he was the same man in that photo was until I got to the parking garage."

Mulder shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't want to know the answer, but I have to ask. What happened?"

She told them.

"Oh man, you should have shot the sorry bastard!" Langley said, clearly in awe.

"What did he want?" Mulder asked, on a mission.

Anna's brow creased in frustration. "He offered Walter something, but I don't know what. He told him to 'think about it' before he left."

"I don't know, guys. It's not our place to tell her. It's his." Byers understood protecting the ones you love from harm, and he didn't want to go against Skinner's wishes. Even if he was a hard ass.

"He doesn't deserve her," Frohike said matter-of-factly. "She's saved his ass twice now. He can't have his cupcake and eat it, too, boys."

Byers sighed, seeing his side of the argument. "OK, fine. Whatever."

"Honey, I'll tell you whatever you want to know just for pointing a gun at his sorry head and living to tell about it," Frohike said. "From what we can tell on the man, he's basically invisible. No name. No Social Security number. Nothing . . ."

* * *

For the next several hours, Anna listened as the four men told her what little they knew and all of what they suspected.

In a way, she hoped they could make it make sense. What little _she_ knew only served to confuse her, but as they slowly painted their picture of lies, deception and desperation, her confusion and dread only worsened.

However, some things, she did understand more clearly.

"So, _that's_ why they tried to get him framed for that prostitute's murder," she said more to herself than anyone. "They did it to get him away from you," she motioned towards Mulder.

Mulder looked surprised. "He told you about that?"

"He told me he was framed, but not why."

"It's only a theory we have," Langley shrugged.

"But, a pretty damned accurate theory, if you asked me," Frohike argued.

When they got to the part about Scully's cancer and the mysterious disappearing evidence at the mail sorting facility, she put another puzzle piece in place.

"He did it, didn't he? He got rid of the evidence."

She didn't know if she wanted them to agree or not.

All of them looked at Mulder.

"There was no proof. But, it was his gun that shot that police officer."

She paled. "Did he . . . do . . . that, too?"

Mulder shook his head. "It was a set-up to keep him quiet. Although I never figured out why he got rid of the evidence, what they had on him to make him do it."

"He's never struck me as someone who would do what he didn't want to do," Byers added thoughtfully.

"He did it for Dana."

All the men looked at her.

Anna ran her hands through her hair nervously. "I don't know if I should be telling you this or not, but he showed up one night at Gordo's drunk. It was . . . before all this. He was babbling something about doing these awful things, only because they promised him a cure." She looked at Mulder. "I bet that's it."

Mulder leaned back in his chair. "I have to admit, I suspected as much, but . . . why couldn't he have told us?"

"Weakness. He didn't want you to know his soft spots," Byers mulled.

"And everyone's got a weakness for Agent Scully," Frohike added, a grin on his face.

* * *

His apartment had a hollow feeling he couldn't shake. Skinner tried to chalk it up to basically being violated by that son of a bitch, but that wasn't it.

It was Nero. That crazy dog of hers had been with him even when she wasn't there for five days now. He'd grown accustomed to the beast.

And, he sure as hell respected him a little more now that he saw what he could do.

But, it wasn't just the mutt. It was Anna. There were signs of her everywhere – a magazine here, a pair of sandals there - rubbing his face in the fact that he'd screwed up. Royally. Big time.

He wondered if she'd even be back to get all her things. She was only here to help while he was recuperating. And, since he was basically well enough to take care of himself, he wondered if she would pick up camp and move back home.

Leaving him just as alone as before. Only worse. Now, he knew what he'd be missing.

Not that she'd even care to stay if he asked her at this point.

She said she loved him.

He hadn't expected the rush of emotions – the joy, complete with the dread that there was no turning back.

And the realization that he wasn't the only one.

The longer the clock ticked the seconds, then the minutes and hours away, the more sure of it he became. He hadn't allowed himself the luxury as something as simple as love in so long, it almost brought him to his knees with the pure elation of it.

Hoping she might have her cell on her at work, he had to give it a shot. Picking up the phone, he dialed her number from memory.

It went straight to voice mail.

Great. She'd turned it off.

He slammed the phone down, more in disgust with himself than anything.

It seemed so right! He wouldn't tell her the gory details of his job, and she'd be happy to stay in the dark.

He thought for a moment, kicking at a dog toy that was halfway underneath the couch. What was she? An attention-starved pet whom he could shower with attention when he wanted, then leave to her own devices at his own choosing?

Hell, that attitude towards the women in his life hadn't worked before. Why would it work now?

He had so much nervous energy, he actually thought about going for a run, but his doctor would probably throw a fit. So, he was left to his own devices in his eerily-silent apartment.

But, not for long.

He'd find her himself.

* * *

The story they wove just got more intriguing as the time flew by.

The thought had been flitting in and out of her mind during this entire diatribe, and she just had to voice it. "Do all of you realize we're just sad pawns in this sick little game these people are playing?"

"Methinks the lady gets it," Langley muttered.

Mulder had those exact same thoughts night after miserable night as he lay on his couch, wondering just exactly what all of it meant. "The trick is to not do what they think you're going to do. That's the only way we can expose any of this."

Anna looked dubious, and he didn't blame her.

When all her questions were exhausted, she leaned down and thumbed through a stack of old newsletters. "So, you mean to tell me, there's actually a hint of truth in this stuff?" She motioned towards their magazine. "The government is actually abducting its own citizens, making it look like aliens, only to develop a vaccine against when the aliens actually _do_ take over?"

They all nodded. "Exactly."

It was Anna's turn to be shell shocked. "That's . . . amazing. And somehow, I believe you." She paused. "And somehow, I have a hard time believing Walter believes you."

Mulder's phone rang, and he pulled it out, not checking the caller ID before he answered it.

"He knows something screwy is going on, but he's being pulled in both directions," Byers said, answering her question.

"And it makes him madder than an old wet hen," Langley drawled.

"Yes, sir. I've seen her." Mulder's eyes met hers. "In fact, she's with me."


	26. Chapter 26

Wherever she was, he knew he had to find her.

If anything, to make sure that cigarette-smoking piece of crap hadn't gotten his claws into her.

But, she wasn't at work. Gordo had informed him with an air of authority that she had called in earlier, saying she couldn't make it.

Just where in the hell did she go?

He'd tried her house, but there was no one there, the place having an air of neglect about it. She hadn't been home yet. Nero was still with her, wherever she was.

He climbed back into his car parked on her street and sat there, his hands on the steering wheel. It had been hours since she'd stormed out, the sun lowering in the sky.

The first tendrils of fear crept up his spine.

What if they had her? What if it was like Scully? And Mulder's sister?

His palms started to sweat at the thought.

Maybe that wasn't it. Maybe she was somewhere else.

Glancing up in the rearview mirror, he glanced in what he knew was her friend's driveway – Libby. That was her name.

But, the only vehicle was a slightly dusty minivan.

As he watched, he saw Libby saunter out of the house, a baby on each arm and juggle them both as she walked to the mailbox.

Anna wasn't there.

Without realizing it, his hands were clasping the steering wheel so tightly that his fingers cramped. Making himself relax, he rubbed his eyes, trying to think.

Picking up the phone, he dialed another number.

Scully hadn't seen her, either.

He could tell it was on the tip of her tongue to ask what was wrong, and he made sure he hung up before she could ask.

There was one other option. One he didn't even want to contemplate.

It just made sense that Anna would go to Mulder. He knew she was friends with both the agents.

Not that he thought she went running to Mulder for comfort. He knew which way the wind blew between the two agents, rather they realized it or not. Anna picked up on it, too, and they had discussed Mulder and Scully's strange relationship before.

But, hell, it wasn't any stranger a relationship than his and Anna's, now, was it?

Skinner was beginning to think 'normal' was just a term in the dictionary.

But, Anna had said something about answers and getting them her own way.

Mulder would answer any question she asked.

He cranked the car, heading to Mulder's apartment.

But, no one was there either.

He even stood there for a moment, listening.

Nothing but silence.

Growing more frustrated by the minute, he dialed the agent's cell number.

"Mulder." He answered after one ring.

There were voices in the background.

"Have you seen Anna?"

Mulder paused. "Yes, sir, I have." Another pause. "She's with me."

He wanted to slump against the elevator in relief, suddenly realizing just how tired he really was.

Damn Krychek.

"Where are you?"

Another pause. "You won't like it."

The elevator doors ground open, and he shot out of them, heading to his car. "Tell me where you are, or so help me . . ." He left the threat open-ended.

Shuffling. Mulder finally gave him an address.

Skinner paused as he was opening his car door, muttering a curse. "Is that . . ." This was worse than he thought.

"Seems she wanted some answers you weren't willing to provide."

Several responses came to mind, most of them more than a little violent. Instead, through clenched teeth, he said, "I'll be right there."

He tossed the phone on the dash with more force than necessary and pointed the car in the right direction.

* * *

"I think you're going to be in trouble," Langley said in a sing-song voice.

Anna stood painfully, not realizing she'd been rooted to the chair for the entire duration of their wild and crazy story. "He can't hurt me any worse than he's done already." She didn't want to admit that the thought of him spending the afternoon searching for her made her lose some of her animosity.

That showed he cared, if anything, didn't it?

It looked like she was going to have to take it where she could get it.

Langley admired her bare midriff as her shirt rode up as she stretched her arms above her head. "I wasn't talking to you, I was talking to Mulder."

Mulder grinned, knowing exactly what Langley was ogling. "Won't be the first time, will it?"

"I don't have to answer to him for anything," she finished stretching.

"Yeah, but I do."

"Don't let him blame you," Anna said, looking at Mulder. "You only did what I asked."

"More than Skinner could do," Frohike muttered.

"Look, thanks guys, for the answers. Although," she paused, "although, I don't think I really got any. Just more questions."

"Welcome to our world," Byers said, already resigned to the fact.

"I owe you all one."

"Brownies. You have to pay in brownies," Langley said, brightening.

Anna had to smile, despite the dull throb of her headache that had haunted her all day. "Done." She headed towards the door, Nero skittering to his feet, ready to leave.

"Wait! You're just going to leave us here to face him ourselves?" Langley asked.

"Yeah, what do you want us to tell him?" Byers questioned.

Anna didn't even turn around to look at them. "Ask him how it feels to be chasing something just out of his reach."

They couldn't argue with that.

Byers unlocked all the bolts, and she smiled at him wanly before walking into the dark street. He watched as she climbed into her car before re-fastening every lock.

"He's gonna be pissed," Byers muttered to no one in particular.

"Royally," Frohike said curtly.

* * *

"What do you _mean_ she left?" Skinner asked incredulously.

Mulder leaned against the desk. "She heard you were coming, and she was outta here." He shrugged. "Must've been some fight."

"Yeah, she was the only one that seemed to be able to tolerate you for long periods of time. Guess that's out, now, huh?" Langley needled.

Skinner ignored the man, focusing on Mulder. "What did you tell her?"

Mulder shrugged. "The truth. Or at least, what we know of it."

Skinner removed his glasses, running a hand over his face in frustration, not even want to contemplate what was going through her mind. "Why didn't you stop her?"

Mulder made a face. "Have you ever met a woman that you could stop once she had her mind made up?"

OK, Mulder had him there.

"Well, do you have any idea _where_ she went?"

They all shrugged.

He sighed. Dead end. Again. Unless she went home. He could always try there again.

Losing some of the irritation in his voice, he asked, "How . . . was she?"

"Hurt. Confused. Frustrated," Langley ticked off a list.

"Mainly with you," Frohike added. "You don't deserve her, you know that?"

"You don't even know me," Skinner retorted, annoyed.

"Neither does she, apparently. Although she sure as hell wants to know more about you than we do." Frohike didn't back down.

"Whatever," Skinner muttered. He turned to go, making sure he slammed the door hard behind him.

Byers stared at Frohike. "Must you always needle people who are stronger than you? Do you have a death wish or something?"

Frohike shrugged, not at all concerned. "Hey, if she gets tired of him, she always has us!"

* * *

Anna picked at her chili cheese fries, tossing one to Nero who happily wolfed it down. She spotted the little diner as soon as she left the questionable neighborhood that the Lone Gunmen called home, and her stomach rumbled.

She hadn't eaten since breakfast, and this place was perfect.

However, once she got her greasy hamburger, fries and vanilla milkshake and sat down outside, she lost her appetite as she mulled over what she had learned today.

It was almost incomprehensible, but she couldn't deny the facts they had uncovered. If even the always-skeptic Dana Scully agreed with this train of thought, and she was assured she did, then there really was something to be afraid of. More than the proverbial 'bump in the night.'

She absently tossed Nero another fry, which he gobbled happily, then sighed, propping her elbow on the table, chin in her hand.

It did feel good to know. To have at least a few of her questions answered.

But, she still felt as if something were missing. And she knew what that was.

Part of her understood why he wanted to protect her. After all, she'd grown up with men who lived to shield their wives and daughters from the horrors of the world. But, most of her was only saddened that he wouldn't tell her himself.

He treated her just like anyone else in his life – keeping them at arm's length.

And, she'd blurted out that she loved him.

It was true. She did.

But, now she was running from him, wanting to figure out what -if anything - she wanted to do about it. Although she couldn't run forever. She had to go home eventually. And, if he was looking for her, then he'd find her.

But, she'd go home whenever she was damn good and ready.

* * *

Skinner spotted her car parked along the street and slammed on brakes despite the angry honks behind him.

Doing a U-turn in the road, which earned him more honking and yelling, he parked right behind her.

Yep. It was her.

He glanced up and down the street, but didn't see any place she would be.

His eye caught a flashing diner sign across the street, and he remembered their first hesitant conversation at the Vietnam Memorial.

Bad diner food.

Was that really just several months ago? It seemed like an eternity.

Crossing against the light, he spotted her, sitting alone outside the well-lit diner, absently pushing her food around on her tray. She looked exhausted, and he sure couldn't blame her. She'd had a busy day.

Nero saw him first and thumped his tail in greeting.

Hell, at least her dog didn't hate him.

Deep in thought, she wasn't paying any attention, absently dipping a fry in ketchup.

As he slowly made his way to her table, he wanted her to acknowledge him in some way. At least it would give him an idea of how to approach.

But, she didn't.

"So, do the chili cheese fries measure up to your crummy diner standards?" he asked.

Surprised, she glanced up, dropping the fry on the ground, which Nero immediately scarfed. "How did you find me?"

He hated the look of wariness on her face. "If you want to hide, next time, don't park on the street."

She made a face and looked away.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Do you mind if I join you?"

She shrugged and took a sip of her milkshake. "It's a free country. So far."

He sat, glad to be off his feet. "You know, surliness doesn't suit you."

She put her drink down with a thump. "Neither does the mold you want to fit me into – the quiet, sweet little woman you can feed information to when you damn well please." She stared at him, willing him to contradict her.

He couldn't argue there. "I deserve that."

That wasn't quite the reaction Anna was expecting, and she sighed, fiddling with the straw in her cup. "So . . . you found me. What do you want?"

That was a damn good question. "I . . . don't exactly know."

She snorted and tossed Nero another fry.

"What did they tell you?"

"What do you _think_ they told me?"

He shifted uncomfortably in the metal chair. "I'd take it with a grain of salt if I were you."

She threw her napkin down with disgust. "That's just it! I'm _not_ you! Sure, that has to be the most far-fetched story I've ever heard, but with everything I had pieced together, it makes so much _sense_!"

She leaned forward, trying her best not to raise her voice. "And, you know something else? At least they told me what was going on, to the best of their abilities. They . . . they trusted me or thought I could handle it or _whatever_ goes through your mind, whatever was keeping you for telling me yourself."

"I was trying to protect you . . ."

"Bullshit! You were _hiding_! It's what you do best." She stood, gathering her trash, strangely calm. "And, I've also come to realize that this . . . this whatever we have that was going on between us will never work out for many reasons, but chiefly because you are just plain _scared_ of it!"

"Scared?" His voice had an incredulous tone.

She put her hand on her hip. "Yes, scared!"

"That's ridiculous." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Fine. If you're not scared to tell me, who did this to you? Who gave you disease? Because that's one question of many Mulder couldn't answer." She motioned with her hands. "Go on. Tell me."

He stared at her for a moment.

Maybe she was right. Maybe he was scared.

"I know it was that man with the long hair and the beard. I saw him at the gym. And at the hospital. The one who ran us off the road that night." She was urging him to tell her, giving him every opening he needed.

When she saw he wasn't going to answer, she tossed the leftovers to Nero, who immediately ate them, and threw her paper in the trash with more force than necessary.

"Anna, wait!"

She kept walking, tears stinging her eyes. She couldn't keep doing this.

He grabbed her wrist, and she tried to snatch her arm out of his grip. But, he held firm.

She stared at him for a moment, cursing her tears. "_What_?"

He appeared to be wrestling within himself, trying his best to answer her vague question. He let go of her arm. "Anna, I love you."

For one brief moment, her heart soared, secure in the knowledge that her own love wasn't in vain.

But only for a moment. She came crashing back to earth with just as much intensity.

Meeting his troubled eyes, she had to say it. "Is it enough? Is it enough to make it through whatever trouble you find yourself in? Is it enough to allow me access to your thoughts, to your feelings, to know what goes on in your head?"

He didn't answer, but his eyes never left hers.

"That's what I thought."

Yanking open her car door for Nero, she followed her dog intisde, slamming it behind her.

She didn't even look at him as she drove away.

He was losing her, if he hadn't already lost her completely. Just like he'd lost every other woman in his life to his stubborn belief that if he kept his problems to himself, he'd be stronger in some way. She'd had to go to someone else for answers he should have been willing to give.

The question was, what was he going to do about it?


	27. Chapter 27

We're getting into 'Two Fathers' and 'One Son' territory.

* * *

"I think it's sweet."

Anna rolled her eyes as she scrubbed the casserole dish, up to her elbows in soapy water. "Don't encourage him."

"Oh, c'mon, Anna! Flowers? Candy? He even bought your dog some sort of puppy gift basket," Libby motioned towards Nero who was busily gnawing on a giant rawhide that was almost as big as he was. "You can't tell me you that doesn't unfreeze your little ol' heart just a teeny weeny bit?"

Anna finished running the dish under the faucet and set it on the drying rack, wiping her hands with a kitchen towel. "Fine. I'll admit it's nice to be showered with gifts. But, don't you think it's just some sort of attempt to _buy_ me back?"

Libby popped a pacifier in one of the twin's mouth when she began to fuss. "It's not like you've given him any other option, you know. You won't return his calls, so what's he supposed to do?"

Anna crossed her arms and leaned against her kitchen counter. "He could visit me for starters."

"Oh, sure. And get the door slammed in his face."

"So, you think I was a little hard on him?" Anna picked at a worn spot on the side of the counter.

"Brutal! After all, the man almost _died_!"

"He was treating me like some sort of fragile piece of crockery that couldn't be used, only admired."

"Isn't that how you were raised?" Libby knew the story of her sheltered upbringing.

"Sure, my family protected me from the harsh realities of the world, but where did it get me? No where. I still had to face it and felt just as unprepared for it as anyone." She shook her head. "I won't do it again."

Libby thought for a moment. "Having a husband working with the DoD, I can relate. Honestly, there's things that go on in this world that I _don't_ want to have any knowledge of whatsoever."

"But, what if they affected him personally? Kept him up at night? Worried him incessantly? Almost killed him? Wouldn't you want to know then?"

Libby pursued her lips. "Whatever they told you must have been a lulu."

"It was . . . interesting." Anna certainly wasn't going to go around telling people what Mulder and The Lone Gunmen said. Not only would it make her sound certifiably insane, but it just wasn't something that one went around blabbing about.

Libby jiggled a baby on her knee, the other one on the floor trying to play with Nero's tail. "You miss him."

Anna's head jerked up. "You're telling me I _miss_ being kept in the dark? Being patted on the head like an errant child?"

Libby rolled her eyes. "Don't be so dramatic."

"Now, that's the pot calling the kettle black."

Libby ignored her. "In his mind, he was doing it for all the right reasons."

"In his mind, he was doing it to hide from me." Anna plopped down at the table across from her friend.

"All I'm saying is, you miss him. Despite all the goings-on, you still managed to spend enough time together to get to know each other. And you must have liked what you saw? Hell, _I_ liked what I saw! That man is _built_!"

Nero lost interest in his bone and the baby and tromped to Anna, putting his head in her lap. Absently, she stroked his ears. "I know I told him _he_ was scared. But, maybe _I_ am."

"Of what?"

"I almost lost him, Libby. I _did_ lose him. I watched him _die_ on that table. I can't . . . I don't know if I can do that again," she finished softly.

"We're all gonna die, hon. That's how it works. You can't sacrifice happiness for a fear that will come true one day, no matter what."

"But, I thought Allen and I would grow old together, have all these children and grandchildren and die in our beds, surrounded by family. I never would have dreamed . . ." she trailed off, still stroking Nero's ears as he looked up at her soulfully.

"Would you have done anything differently? If you had known about the car accident, would you have balked at marrying Allen? At having Scott? Was it all worth it?"

Anna looked at her friend. It was something she had thought about often. "I had them for a little while, had happiness for a little while. I guess . . . I would."

"Well, what makes _now_ any different?" Libby studied Anna for a moment, her eyes suddenly widening. "Oh my God! You _love_ him!"

Anna rolled her eyes, putting her head in her arms on the table. "So what if I do? It's not like . . . it'll ever be reciprocated. He keeps himself locked up so tight, no one can get through."

_But, he told her loved her, too._

"Balls!" Libby motioned around the kitchen at the beautiful flower arrangements, large and small. "Do you think he'd go through all this trouble?"

Anna shrugged. "Guilt makes you do strange things, I suppose."

"Guilt, ha!" Libby snorted. "That man is smitten with you. Worships the ground you walk on. I bet next, he'll send jewelry."

Anna paused. "Well . . ." she stood and opened a drawer, pulling out an unmistakable box.

Libby squealed in delight, causing the babies to squeal right alone with her. "I knew it, I _knew_ it!" She snatched the box from Anna and opened it to reveal its contents. "Now, that's classy!" She removed the silver bracelet, the delicate strands held lightly in her fingers. "Gorgeous! Just gorgeous!"

She returned it to the box. "You need to call that man."

"And tell him to stop with all this nonsense."

Libby leaned back in her chair. "I think you're being just as stubborn as he is. You are so determined to be angry at him that you're giving up what little happiness you have."

"That's ridiculous," Anna said, shaking her head, deep inside fearing her friend was right.

"Nope, not ridiculous. The truth. Call him."

"No."

"Call him . . ." her voice held a warning tone.

Anna made a face. "Fine. I'll call him tomorrow."

"Now!"

"No, Libby! He's at work! Trust me, interruptions are not needed."

Libby stuck out her tongue. "Fine. Tomorrow. But, I want a full report!" She picked up one of the twins who was getting fussy. "I better get home and feed these heathens."

"You need any help?"

"Nah. I can use the exercise."

Anna walked them to the door.

"Call him," Libby added as she breezed out.

"I know, I know. And call you right afterwards. Even if the girls are asleep?"

"Even if _I'm_ asleep!"

Anna laughed quietly as she shut the door, leaving her and her dog alone.

She looked down at Nero.

"What am I going to do, boy?"

He only wagged his tail in response.

* * *

She could not get him out of her head. All the gifts didn't help, and as determined as she was to forget him, he was apparently had other things in mind.

Sure, she'd promised Libby she'd call, but she didn't know what to say. Part of her was afraid she'd blurt out how much she missed him, and the other part of her was afraid she wouldn't. Afraid she'd let him go due to this stubborn streak she'd developed that Libby felt the need to throw in her face.

Was she really missing out? Wasn't her life just as satisfying before he came along?

She knew the answer to that.

Simply put, no.

Just as she'd been since she walked away from him a few days before, she quietly went about her job that evening, studying on it, trying to figure out the right thing to do. Not just for her, but for him. Was he willing to invite someone into his life? Would she be able to accept it if he wouldn't?

Towards the end of the night, Gertie came trailing by. "You have a customer. Cindy just sat 'em at number 14."

"How many?"

"Just one."

"Thanks," Anna mumbled, taking a moment to rub her temples. Just as she had every night, she'd not come up with an answer.

"I'll keep an eye on your other tables for you."

Anna thought that was a strange comment to make. Just how hard was it to deal with one customer?

Remembering to put a cheerful face, she turned around and headed for the table.

And stopped dead in her tracks when she saw who it was.

Funny, the first reaction she had was not of annoyance or anger. Not by far. Her heart leapt just at the sight of him watching her, waiting to see if she would fight or run.

Stupid heart.

Anna steeled herself and made her feet close the distance between them.

That's right. She was a waitress. He was a customer. She could do this.

Plus, she could see Gordo firing her if she didn't.

With a steady hand, she sat a glass of water and silverware in front of him. "So, is this a social visit? Or you actually here to eat?"

"I wasn't planning on eating. I thought you might spit in my food if I did."

"I'd probably get Ace to do it. He's just been dying to for awhile now."

"Do you have a moment?"

Anna remembered what Gertie had said about her tables.

Apparently, she did.

"Ah . . . I guess I owe you that much." She hesitantly slid in the booth across from him, studying him "You're looking much better. Are you back at work?"

He nodded.

"Did the place go to pot without you?" She couldn't help the sarcastic comments.

He stared at her through his glasses, expression unreadable. "Apparently, I'm as dispensable as Krychek told me I was."

Anna narrowed her eyes slightly, recognizing the name. It took her a moment to realize from where. Oh yeah. The double, double agent. Or whatever he was. "Krychek. He's . . . from what the Lone Gunmen told me . . ." she trailed off.

"Our paths crossed today," he started, noting how her eyes widened. At least she already knew the history on the man, "and it seems I'm at his mercy."

Her mouth opened, shocked. "_He_ did this to you? _He_ was the man with the beard that I kept seeing?"

Walter cleared his throat. He had to tell someone, and she was all he had. It was getting harder and harder to keep all of this to himself. Plus, if he were going to lose her by not telling her, he'd damn well figured he needed to _tell_ her! "He can bring it back if he chooses. If I don't do what he wants."

Her breath caught in her throat. Questions flew around in her head like bats in a belfry. Finally, one surfaced. "What does he want?"

"I'm sure I'll find out."

Without thinking, she reached out and took his hand. "Is he . . . did you think it was him all along?"

He studied her hand as he spoke. "I suspected."

"What about Mulder? And Scully?"

He shook his head. "I had to call them off. Tell them not to pursue it any longer. I think they were . . . unhappy with that decision." It was so easy just to blurt out the truth. No need to dance around the subject or brush it off. Just cold, hard facts.

Hell, he should've done this all along!

"You had to. He'd kill you if they found out."

He didn't answer, still having a hard time accepting it himself.

But, she knew now. That was all that mattered.

"Why tell me this now?" It didn't make any sense that he'd suddenly open up to her. Not after she'd fought for it so long.

He raised his eyes until they met hers. The same eyes that haunted him in his sleep. "Because I'm scared."

Squeezing his hand, she said, "I guess this isn't the time to say 'I told you so,' is it?"

He laughed, linking his fingers with hers. "I've had a lot of time to think about what you said. And you were right."

"I was upset. Probably, I shouldn't have been so harsh."

"But, I can relate to harsh. It gets through my thick skull."

"Now, you're making me feel bad. Especially for not thanking you properly for all the gifts."

He reached in his coat pocket, pulling out an envelope and tossing it on the table. "There's one more."

She gave him a look. "That's really not necessary. You've done plenty."

"Just stop your talking and open it," he said with a smile. It had been a long week, but just seeing her made some of the exhaustion drain away.

She picked it up, pointing it at him. "Watch it, buster." Opening the flap, she pulled out two tickets to The Washington Opera. She looked at him. "I didn't even know you liked the opera."

"Learn something new everyday, don't you?"

The studied the tickets. Tomorrow night. "I . . .I don't know what to say."

"You could try 'thank you' for starters."

She swatted him with the envelope, laughing. "Thank you! For all of it!"

"Is that from Nero, too?"

"I have to admit, a man after my own heart."

"Since he would have gleefully ripped that bastard's throat out on my behalf, I felt I owed it to the mutt."

"Well, the mutt says, 'thank you,' too."

Skinner had to admit, he left the restaurant in a much better mood than when he walked in.

* * *

After a hurried consultation with Libby and her closet, Anna had what she needed – a navy blue satin dress, floor-length, backless and low enough that she had to remember not to keep hiking it up in public. Anna wanted her to wear the red one, but it was short, tight and screamed, 'I'm a ho!' Not her style.

"Well, I don't expect you to be wearing it long," Libby sassed, rooting in her closet for the shoes to match.

Anna didn't have time to comment before Libby was on a tear about her hair and her nails.

Before she realized it, they were both sitting in a nail salon with Vietnamese girls fawning all over their hands and feet.

Then, onto the salon, where Libby insisted she get blonde highlights in her hair.

"All men love blondes," she sassed, tossing her own blonde curls.

"I didn't even do all this when I got married!" Anna protested, eyeing the hair stylist as he came at her with something that looked suspiciously like aluminum foil.

"This is the big city, hon. We do all this for a simple trip to the grocery store!"

She'd made a decision to enjoy herself. She wasn't going to think about any of the strange and deadly things she'd learned in the past week. None of it. She was going to enjoy Walter's company, her first opera . . . and whatever else the night may bring.

It was all overwhelming, but Anna allowed herself to be swept up into the frenzy that was Libby. After all, Libby's bright chatter kept her mind off her worries.

But, it was worth it to see the look on his face, clearly approving all her efforts, when he picked her up that afternoon.

She could just see Libby peeking through her blinds as he held open the car door for her.

Yep, tonight just might well be worth all the trouble.

* * *

Not only did he have a difficult time keeping his eyes off her all through dinner, but whenever she was close to him – holding the door open for her, walking to-and-from the car – he couldn't help but touch her. Although the dress she wore was long, it left little to the imagination, and once when he brushed his fingers along the nape of her neck lightly as he was helping her to the table, he delighted in the fact that she shivered.

He had a mind to skip the opera house all together.

An unspoken agreement between them allowed no shop talk, but that didn't leave them with a lack of subject matter.

It didn't escape him that this was the most relaxed he'd been all week. If he wasn't dealing with Krychek's veiled threats, it was Mulder and Scully watching him with wary eyes or a superior yelling at him for whatever Mulder and Scully were up to.

Anna did more for him than anything he could think of.

But, of course, it had to end sometime.

His cell phone, set on vibrate, went off during the first act. He ignored it until the first intermission, escaping to a relatively quiet corner of the lobby to check his voice mail after making sure Anna was seated for the second act.

It was Mulder.

Funny how the man wondered about his loyalties one minute, but could call him for help in a crisis the next.

This time, Skinner wasn't going to call him back.

Forget what Mulder said about getting to the abandoned Air Force base a couple hours out of town and getting "proof" of all their years of work.

But, his phone rang before he returned to his seat.

It was Mulder. Again.

Skinner sighed, ignoring looks from the staff that said he needed to be seated.

He couldn't let it go. He just couldn't.

Resolutely, he pressed a button. "Skinner."

What Mulder had to tell him made his blood run cold.

* * *

The lights dimmed after intermission was over, but Walter still had not returned. She craned her neck, looking at the nearest entrance, but didn't see him.

Not familiar with these sorts of situations, she wondered if the ushers would even let him back in once it started.

Someone did walk through the door, but it wasn't Walter. Carefully studying the seat numbers with his flashlight, the usher stopped at her row.

Thankfully, they were on the end.

"Mrs. Greensburg? Come with me please."

There was a problem. Anna just knew it.

Suddenly fearful of Krychek and the power he held, she wondered if the nanotechnology was back.

Not wanting to ask questions and ruin the start of the next act for the others in attendance, she gathered her small purse and her skirt and quietly followed the usher out of the darkened theatre and into the lobby.

So relieved to see him standing in the lobby, talking on his cell phone, her knees almost gave out from under her.

Skinner snapped the phone shut just as she walked purposefully towards him, brows furrowed in apprehension.

"I hate to do this, but I've got to pick up Mulder and Scully. At the train yard." His hand found its way to the small of her back, escorting her out of the building.

Interesting how, no matter that Mulder had just told him that the Syndicate had abducted Cassandra Spender and were taking her and their families to an abandoned air force base to meet the aliens and begin hybridization, he still thrilled at the feel of her soft skin on his fingers.

Twisted, no?

"Why can't they get there on their own?" she asked as they hurried across the parking garage.

"Apparently, their car got hit by a train. After they shot at it."

She almost halted mid-stride. "You've _got_ to be kidding me?"

"Cassandra Spender was onboard." He didn't tell her the rest as they climbed in his car. She'd find out soon enough. "I apologize for interrupting our evening," he grumbled as he turned the key in the ignition.

"Make Mulder pay for the next one." As long as he was fine, that was all she was worried about.

Skinner should have put her in a cab for home. Judging by the tone of Mulder's voice, they were running out of time, and he didn't have a moment to drive her across town, either to her place or his.

Honestly, he wanted her with him. If this went down as Mulder suspected, then he wanted her close.

* * *

Mulder was talking before he even ground to a halt in the gravel of the train yard, not even realizing Anna was in the passenger seat. "It's El Rico Air Force Base. They're meeting with them to make a trade . . ." He paused, finally noticing her, giving Skinner a questioning glance.

Skinner glared at him from the rear view mirror. "Go ahead. Speak your mind. She's already is up-to-speed, anyway." He wanted to add 'no thanks to you.'

Before Scully even slammed the door behind her, they were off in a cloud of dust.


	28. Chapter 28

I finally did it! I crammed the rest of this story on the chapter limit it lets you have on here! So . . . 15 chapters to go, folks!

* * *

"And, you actually _believed_ him?"

It was the first thing Anna said during the entire tense trip. She'd listened, enthralled and amazed, as Mulder and Scully explained the twists and turns that led them to the conclusion that the aliens were starting Phase II of their plan to take over the world. All learned from none other than C.G.B. Spender, formally known as the Cigarette-Smoking Man.

Clearly, the others in the car wanted to know the answer to her question, as well. They all waited patiently.

Mulder cleared his throat. "It makes sense. My sister's abduction. The rebels trying to stop the colonization. Cassandra Spender's miraculous healing. All of it." He paused. "And, for some reason, I saw the glimmer of truth in his eyes. As if he really was telling me the truth."

"Why would he?" Skinner asked, keeping his eyes on the road, his words clearly echoing Anna's thoughts.

"I think . . . I think he wants me to be there. To be saved along with the Syndicate's families."

"Mulder was supposed to be there by now. With Agent Fowley." Scully added.

Anna heard the note of bitterness in her voice. Agent Diana Fowley had only been mentioned in passing, but Anna knew there was more to the story than was being said in this car.

But, that was a story for later.

They hadn't met very many cars this far out in the country, so when one did approach, Anna had to squint at the glare as she tried to process this new information. She had many other questions, but the anxious silence the permeated the car made her keep her mouth shut.

The silence grew tense as they approached, the sign to the entrance of the base hanging haphazardly from the pole. The gates were wide open. Just inside, there were cars – expensive cars – parked haphazardly about, some of them with doors and trunks still open.

But, the entire place had an abandoned feel to it.

Walter reached underneath the seat as he drove slowly past, handing her a gun, his eyes on the scene in front of him. "Stay here."

She clamped her hands around the cold steel and nodded. It was all she could manage, her fear rising in her throat.

Could she shoot an alien? Would it kill it?

Would she even _know_ if it was an alien?

Who would have thought she'd be thinking these things?

The headlights illuminated a large metal building at the beginning of a weedy runway, formally used to house larger planes. The doors were wide open.

And what they saw caused Anna to gasp.

Heaps of smoldering ruins were lying tossed about. Looking suspiciously like . . .

The smell hit her next, and she thought she was going to gag.

Burning flesh. It was a smell one didn't easily forget.

"The rebels. We're too late," Mulder mumbled, reaching for the door handle as Walter braked, the headlights wobbling over the scene in front of them.

"Or the aliens were too late," Scully whispered as she followed her partner.

Anna's breath was stuck in her throat as she clutched the gun in her hands, watching as the three of them slowly made their way to the remains, circling, looking for survivors.

Or someone to blame.

But, nothing moved. In the shadows or in the beam of the headlights. All was silent. Anna risked opening the door, the full force of the stench hitting her square in the face. Resolutely, she stood by the car, straining to see, to hear.

But, there was nothing.

Even the usual nocturnal noises were quiet. Eerie.

A rustling from the brush just yards from her made her jump, clutching the pistol tighter, palms sweaty.

Staring at where the noise originated from, she waited, heart in her throat. Risking a glance towards the others, she saw Mulder and Scully deep in discussion, Walter standing nearby on his cell phone.

Calling for back-up. Lord knows they needed it.

The branches rustled again, this time further away. Anna jerked her attention back towards the tree line.

Then she heard it. Whimpering. Like a wounded animal.

Or a terrified child.

There was a flash of color, and without thinking, Anna tossed the gun in the front seat and sprinted after it.

"Wait!" she called, hiking up her dress to avoid it getting snagged on briars.

* * *

Skinner heard her, begging someone to stop.

Looking at the car, he saw it was empty.

Immediately, he forgot about the scene before them, the charred bodies permanently frozen in grotesque shapes, and took off after her, ending the call with the local police department mid-sentence.

The sound of her careening through the underbrush was easy to follow, and breathing through his mouth to avoid the awful odor, he followed, not waiting to see what Mulder and Scully had followed.

* * *

The small figure, pink backpack firmly in place, darted here and there.

Anna was having a hard time following in heels, but her longer stride soon out paced the little legs of the child.

Finally within reach, she managed to snag the backpack. The girl screamed and struggled, but Anna held tight, breathing heavily from exertion.

"Leave me alone!" she shrieked, fighting tooth and nail, her curly blonde hair knotted.

"It's alright . . . you're OK . . . I won't hurt you." Anna managed, holding onto the girl, trying to calm her fears the best she could and avoid her small fists. My God, the child couldn't have been more than five!

Hiccupping, the girl finally lost the will to fight, and finally looked at Anna and promptly burst into tears. "I thought . . . you . . . were . . . one of . . . of . . . _them_!" she wailed, latching herself onto Anna's waist tightly.

"Shhhh. It's OK. You're safe now. Don't worry. Shhh." Not minding the dirt and grubby fingers one bit, she rocked the child back and forth in her arms, trying anything to stop the small chest from heaving. She didn't even want to contemplate what this child saw or how she got away as they sat in the darkness.

A crashing through the underbrush startled them both, and the child shrieked and buried her head in Anna's chest, little fingers squeezing tightly.

"What in the _hell_ were you thinking?" Walter appeared, gun drawn, eyes hard.

Anna was immediately on the defensive. "I saw her running into the woods." She kept rocking the child back and forth, comforting her the only way she knew how.

He took a moment to catch his breath, focusing on the terrified child peeking at him from underneath Anna's chin, his fear abating at finding her. Unharmed. He bit back bitter words, his first instinct to dress her down for leaving alone unarmed. Just like he would do one of his agents.

But, she was not one of his agents.

"He's not going to hurt you, either, sweetheart. You're still alright."

The child sniffed loudly. "I know . . . he . . . won't hurt . . . me. He . . . has a . . . face . . . eyes . . ."

Anna mentally cursed the chain of events that would scar this child's life forever.

* * *

Gretchen was her name. And she had just turned five. The backpack was a gift from her parents for the 'trip' they were going to take.

A 'trip' none of them would ever take, judging by the bodies being gathered as evidence by the field crew.

Anna sat Gretchen on the trunk of Walter's car out of sight of the view of the bodies, but she didn't have the heart to ask her questions about what happened, the little girl's tear-streaked face heartbreaking enough.

So, she asked her questions about her parents, her home, her school. Anything to keep her mind occupied as the police arrived and got down to business.

When the ambulances arrived, Anna took her to one, glad to get even further away from the airplane hanger and its sad little drama. A paramedic checked Gretchen out and declared her just fine, offering her a teddy bear, which she gladly clutched against her small body.

She still refused to let Anna out of her sight, and finally, she fell asleep in her lap, small fingers still grasping her so tightly, Anna knew she'd have bruises.

Seated in the open doorway of an ambulance, she held Gretchen against her as the police and FBI sifted through the remains.

Her mind stayed strangely blank, almost as if she had processed so much information, she couldn't hold anymore. She couldn't imagine what horrid scenes this baby had witnessed, and she wondered what would happen to her now. Next of kin? Ward of the state? How would they find out who she belonged to?

Although her leg was going to sleep from the girl's weight, she kept humming softly, her nose resting against the child's tangled hair, breathing deeply of the little-girl smell of it against the horrible odor that she almost seemed accustomed to by now.

* * *

Skinner had seen things like this before. A long time ago in the jungles half a world away when the North Vietnamese set fire to the brush to burn them out, only to shoot to kill whenever the American soldiers raced away from the flames.

Awful, terrible images that were seared onto his brain.

Now, he had one more.

Agent Fowley arrived quicker than he ever would have thought, followed by the local PD and any other agency in the area they could think of. Even HazMat was called, although they really didn't know what for.

He let Mulder do the explaining. Maybe because he was too afraid to see the look of disbelief on the other officers' faces. Mulder was so accustomed to it, he didn't even notice, brushing off their raised eyebrows and snide comments.

It would be nice to be so sure. Of anything. Even if it were little green men.

Grey men. Not green. Grey.

The little girl refused to talk to anybody, only burying her grubby face in Anna's neck when any officer approached wanting answers from the only survivor. He knew they had retreated to one of the ambulances, and he prayed the child was asleep, wondering if she'd be haunted by the events for the rest of her life.

Just as they all would.

He didn't even try to contemplate what this all meant. Mulder said it was years of work by this Syndicate gone down the tubes, and it opened up the entire human race to some sort of intergalactic space war.

No wonder those officers looked at him like he was stark raving mad.

The night crawled by, and Skinner gave orders and took notes and worked right alongside the others, trying his damnedest to compartmentalize what was going on, knowing it was almost impossible to do so.

* * *

Anna had leaned her head against the doorway of the ambulance, her arms aching from holding the sleeping Gretchen for so long. Had it been hours? Minutes?

She didn't know. But, the late hour was taking its toll, and she found herself drifting off as well.

"Is she alright?"

His voice startled her into wakefulness, and her eyes fluttered open.

Walter was knelt in front of her, looking just as grimy and exhausted as she felt.

Anna shifted her arms as best she could, moving Gretchen's weight around. "She's been sleeping."

"Wouldn't talk to the police?"

Anna shook her head.

"How're you holding up?" his eyes searched her, the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles reflecting off his glasses.

She managed what she hope was a convincing smile. "It seems every time I go out with you, something major happens. I'm beginning to think we should just stay at home and watch a movie."

He had to agree with her there. "I admit, it was purely selfish reasons I wanted you here with me. I didn't think about what we would find . . .would be this." He motioned tiredly back towards the hangar, now abuzz with activity. "I guess I should have thought that one through, shouldn't I?"

Reaching out with her one free hand, she brushed her fingers against his cheek, the stubble rough underneath her fingers. They were shielded from the others milling about from the doors of the vehicle. "I doubt you'd have told me about this anyway, right?"

He closed his eyes and turned slightly to kiss her fingertips gently, even managing to catch a whiff of her perfume, further softening a part of him he'd worked so hard to keep tucked away in his heart.

"I contacted DHR. They're going to take Gretchen until they find her next of kin." He said it almost in a whisper.

It was not what Anna wanted to hear, but it was what she expected. It was how the system works. She looked at the child asleep in her arms, brushing the hair away from her cheek and remained silent.

He watched her face carefully. "I don't know how much longer we'll be, but Agent Fowley has volunteered to take both of you back into DC."

She met his eyes. "I'd rather stay . . ."

"You've got to go with her. She won't go with anyone else." He motioned towards the little girl. "Besides, it shouldn't be much longer."

She knew he was right. But, she didn't have to like it.

"Do you still have the key to my place?"

Anna tried to remember if it were still on her keychain in her sparkly little purse she also borrowed from Libby and nodded.

Boy this night had turned out a whole lot different from her expectations of it while diving through Libby's closet!

"It's closer to the DHR safe house. And . . ." He almost didn't say it, felt foolish for even voicing such concerns.

"And what?" she looked at him, curious.

"And, you're safer there. Security is better."

Anna wondered if she was really in _that_ much danger.

Rising painfully to his feet, he held out his hand to help her to hers, steadying her as she balanced her heavy load in her arms.

Knowing he was not prone to public displays of affection, she was surprised when he left his fingers linked with hers as they walked towards a fleet vehicle, a tall, dark-haired woman talking animatedly on her cell phone standing nearby.

_So, this must be the infamous Deborah Fowley . . ._

* * *

The woman wasn't chatty, and Anna didn't feel the need to fill the silence, either. Gretchen had wakened and cried when Anna tried to lay her in the backseat, so she crawled back there with her, rocking her until she fitfully resumed sleeping.

Anna cracked the window, the stench that had attached itself to her clothes and her hair, along with a faint undertone of cigarette smoke that permeated the car, making her crave a breath of fresh air.

Agent Fowley would steal glances at her in the rearview mirror. Anna figured she looked like hell, but honestly didn't care. She had long before undid the pins that held her hair in place, and she felt filthy from her stint in the woods and the burnt-flesh scent that filled the air back at the air force base.

But, Fowley seemed just as calm and collected as if she had walked out of the mall after a day of shopping.

No wonder Dana didn't like her.

They dropped Gretchen off at the social worker's. Gratefully, the girl didn't even wake as the kindly woman toted her into the house, waving once. Anna guiltily let her go, feeling as if she should do something more.

But, then again, what could she do except soothe the little girl's fears? Fears they all apparently might need to grow accustomed to.

Anna crawled in the front seat for the short ride to Crystal City, her eyes itchy from sleep depravation and whatever was floating in the air, so she leaned back in the seat, closing them for a moment.

"You must be pretty close to them for AD Skinner to haul you on a case like that," Fowley said off-handedly.

It was the first words Fowley had uttered. "Mulder was in a hurry, and there was no time for him to take me home," Anna didn't like this woman's prying question, but she answered it anyway.

"So, what do you think? About what happened?"

Anna didn't even open her eyes. "I don't have any opinion on it." At least not that she would share with Agent Fowley.

Fowley tried a bolder tactic. "So, are you living together? I didn't know his place allowed pets."

"I don't see where that's any of your business."

Fowley only shrugged, and the remainder of the short ride was completed in silence. After muttering a thank you and slamming the door harder than necessary, she made her through the lobby and up the stairs, thankful for the late hour and lack of people.

Of course, most normal folks were in their beds asleep, have been for awhile, not out scraping crispy-fried bodies off the pavement.

The first thing she did was come out of the dress, stuffing it in a trash bag she managed to dig out from underneath the kitchen sink.

"Sorry, Libby," she muttered. There was no way that stench was ever coming out.

Next on her list. Shower. Never had warm water felt so amazing. Lucky for her, she'd left many of her toiletries here from her stint as his nursemaid, so she slathered on the body wash and shampoo, letting the spray wipe away all physical traces from her numb body.

Her own clothes were waiting for her. They were still where she left them in an overnight bag in the guestroom. But, after toweling off, her eyes lit on one of his shirts, probably the one he wore to work that day, tossed on his bed.

She couldn't help herself. Picking it up, she held it to her nose for a moment and breathed deeply, feeling slightly foolish. It smelt just like him – like piney woods, musky.

She thought of him. Loyally standing by his agents rather he believed them or not. The panic on his face that subsided to anger after he found her in the woods with Gretchen. The exhaustion in his eyes that went beyond anything that had happened in an old air base in western Virginia.

Padding down the stairs in nothing but her underwear and his shirt, she flopped on the couch, flicking on the television, waiting up for him.


	29. Chapter 29

He heard the low drone of the television as he slid his key into the lock. He made sure to lock the dead bolt behind him.

For what good it would do.

Sound asleep, curled up with her arms underneath her, she didn't even move when he took the remote dangling from her fingers and switched off the television.

It didn't escape him that if he were an intruder, she'd be dead by now.

But, then again, not everyone slept as lightly as he did.

He loosened his tie, shedding clothes as he trudged up the stairs to the bathroom. Judging from the trash bag on the floor in the bathroom, Anna had the same idea as he did, and he swiftly added his now-ruined clothes with hers before stepping into the shower himself.

Despite the exhausted state of his body and his mind, he couldn't shake the feeling that the world as they knew it was preparing to be drastically altered beyond any scope of their imaginations. Letting the water run in his face, he willed it to purge him of the stories he had heard over the past few years, the things he had seen.

But, no matter how many times he tried, mere water just wouldn't do the trick.

The hot water had run lukewarm by the time he felt remotely clean, pulling on a pair of old jeans and nothing else.

His intentions were to check on her, to cover her with a blanket against the artificial chill of the air conditioner.

But, blanket in hand, all he could do was stand, watching her sleep, what looked suspiciously like his shirt almost swallowing her whole. Soundlessly, he sat on the edge of the coffee table, the blanket forgotten, as he watched her even breathing. Her hair, still damp from the shower, curled on the ends, and the smell of her enticed his senses, all those body washes and bath oils she carted over here while she was in the hospital coming to good use, apparently.

As he watched her sleep, some of the tension from the evening leeched away, being replaced by a calm he only seemed to experience in her presence.

Only the scars on her thigh caused him any flutter of pain. For her. For what she went through, what made her into the woman she is, rather she knew it or not. Gently, he reached out and touched them, the skin bumpy, but smooth under his fingertips.

It was the first time he'd seen them up close. The first he'd noticed of the physical pain she was put through.

He couldn't take it away from her, although he wished with all his might that he could.

And not add to it.

His hand fell away, and he removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger wearily, his heart heavy in his chest.

When he returned his glasses to his face, he saw she was awake. Watching him.

Slightly embarrassed at being caught, he voiced an earlier concern. "If I'd have been an intruder, you'd be dead by now." His voice was gruff, masking emotions he didn't think he wanted to feel.

"I knew it was you when you came in the door." Her eyes were still sleepy.

He looked skeptical. "How?"

"Thieves wouldn't use a key." She sat up her hair mussed from sleep and stretched, her arms over her head.

Despite the lack of sleep and emotional toil this evening had, he felt himself respond as the thin material of the shirt pressed against her body, shadows hinting at what was just underneath.

"Did the police find anything?"

Her question brought him back to a reality he wasn't ready to face.

"Not a damned thing," he practically growled, his eyes on her.

* * *

She could sense his frustration, just under the surface, like a spring wound tighter and tighter. It was almost as if she could touch him, run her fingers along his bare chest, feel the tense emotions coursing through him.

His bare chest . . .

Well-muscled, it bore the scars of a life spent fighting wars that were not his own. Each one told a story, some she knew and some she didn't. One jagged scar low on his abdomen even disappeared into the edge of his jeans worn low on his hips.

Anna was surprised at the blossom of heat she felt explode in her chest.

* * *

He could almost see the mood in the room change.

He knew she was studying him, watching him, and his eyes never left her face.

He had thought her gorgeous hours before all decked out, but sitting there in front of him, in nothing but his shirt, face devoid of all traces of cosmetics, he knew she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

As many women as he'd been with, a longing he'd never experienced before made him breathless with need.

He couldn't help himself. Although she was just an arm's-length away, it felt miles too far. As he reached for her, putting both hands softly on the sides of her head to study her face, they both stood. She clung to him as their lips met, searching, probing, wanting.

His fingers moved from her hair to the buttons of his shirt she was wearing, his mouth traveling along her jaw line towards her neck as he worked on unfastening the buttons with shaky fingers, the light scent of her welcome after the horrid smells at the hangar . . .

No. He wouldn't think about that now.

When he found a particularly sensitive spot along her skin where her neck tapered towards her shoulder, she gasped, her nails digging slightly into his bare back, making his fingers fumble just that much more with the buttons on her shirt. The floor of his apartment was looking mighty damn appealing as she pressed against him, causing him to stop just a moment to catch his breath.

By now, his mouth had found hers once again, and giving up on the damned buttons, he cupped her bottom with his hands, picking her up ever so slightly.

Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his waist, and somehow, he managed to carry her like that up the stairs to his bedroom, tongues intertwined, until he reached the bed, lowering them both onto it.

With a flick of his wrist, he ripped the rest of the buttons away, his hands running over the smooth skin of her stomach, his mouth closing around one nipple, then the other, teasing, taunting, her back arching towards him, her moans echoing in his head as her hands ran over his back and his chest.

Pleasing her became his sole focus, erasing everything he had seen and done, erasing a lifetime of regrets and empty promises.

Tugging slightly, he tossed her underwear aside, his mouth moving from her breasts down her stomach and even further.

She cried out, nails digging into his shoulders, with the first flick of his tongue, and he drank of her, his need growing with each passing moment until he could stand it no longer. Moving away just long enough to remove his jeans he tossed them to the floor.

For one brief moment, he hovered over her, both of them breathing heavily, looking in her eyes, dark with desire, mirroring what he could feel coursing through his veins.

When he entered her, every worry, every bit of anger and frustration flitted away, as two bodies, slick with sweat, moved to a crescendo. She cried out his name, muscles taunt, fingers digging into flesh, and it was all he needed to push him over the edge.

They fell asleep tangled among the sheets and each other, his nose buried in her hair fanned across her pillow, clinging to the feeling of peace and comfort he so desperately needed.

* * *

The strains of Beethoven's 'Ninth Symphony' floated about her, sounding strangely monotone in her half-asleep state.

For a moment, she wondered where she was, opening one eye, then the other, the unfamiliar surroundings catching her off guard.

But, then she remembered. And had to smile, flexing sore muscles as she shut her eyes again. The strange music stopped.

Walter had his arm thrown over her side, and she felt him stir behind her. He raised up and kissed her on the back of her neck. Without opening her eyes, she snuggled against him not willing to give up the moment.

The music started again.

"I think your cell phone is calling you," he murmured, moving from her neck to her shoulder.

Anna stretched and yawned, finally remembering. "Libby changed my ring tone." Reluctantly climbing out of bed, she grabbed his shirt, sans a few buttons, from the night before, wrapping it around her the best she could.

Her phone was sitting on a table just inside the front door.

She didn't look at the caller ID when she answered it. And immediately regretted that decision.

"Where have you _been_? I called you until midnight last night. _Our_ time! Then, I started back up this morning at 6. _Your_ time!"

Anna stifled a groan and collapsed in a chair nearby. "Hi, Mom."

Her mother was not to be deterred. "I thought you were _dead_! That some heathen drug-induced thug had gotten you. You could've been in the hospital, _bleeding_ to death!"

Anna put her hand over her face, rubbing her eyes wearily. She squinted at the clock on the television. 7:54

It was way too early to deal with her mother. "Mom, I'm fine."

She heard her mom's familiar huffing. "Ken, she says she's fine."

Her dad's response was muffled, but she imagined it was a grunt of some sort.

Her mom always blew things way out of proportion. They all knew it.

But, then again, she had a reason to. Anna _had_ been bleeding on the side of the road before.

"You didn't answer my question, young lady!"

Anna cringed. She hadn't been listening. "Which one, Mom?" Anna could almost hear her mother's gears churning, see her brown eyes narrow.

"Were you out partying all night? I _told_ your grandmother that moving to the East Coast was not a good idea. All sorts of bad stuff comes out of there. Why, just last night on 'Dateline,' I saw this story about this man who actually _preys_ on single women. Oh Lord, is someone _preying_ on you?"

Anna put her face in her hands, holding her cell phone between her shoulder and her ear. "No, Mom. No one's preying on me."

"Well, where were you?"

No one could say her mom was anything but tenacious.

It was on the tip of Anna's tongue to tell her it was none of her business.

But, she knew her mother meant well. All her other children, she saw daily. Anna was apparently the only one that caused her any grief.

For one brief second, she thought about how last night really went – from opera to burnt corpses by rogue aliens to passionate sex.

Most of that wouldn't go over too well with her mother, either.

"Uhh . . . I was out. With a friend."

"Are you still out with that friend? Because like I said, you weren't answering your house phone. Why do you even pay for a house phone if you're not going to answer it?" That was her mother. Ever the frugal one.

"Mom, I'm not _at_ home."

There was a pause. The gears were still turning at warp speed. "Oh."

Anna had to give her credit. She didn't keep badgering.

Which was good. Because she never could lie to her mother, even over the phone.

"Mom, what in the world did you need to tell me that was so important?"

Walter chose that moment to come downstairs.

Anna rolled her eyes. "My mother," she mouthed, covering the receiver.

For a moment, Anna almost thought her mother forgot what she was calling for. "Oh. Right. I just wanted to tell you that the preacher's son – you remember Matthew? He was always such a sweet young man, coming to see his mother every Wednesday night, driving all the way from Sioux City. . ."

Walter's hands started massaging her neck, and Anna rolled her head around, enjoying the feel of it. "Mom? Your point?"

"I'm getting there. Anyway, he's finally graduating from med school. Can you believe it? A _doctor_! His mother is _so proud_!"

"I bet."

Walter's hands moved from her neck, sensually down her half-buttoned shirt to her breast. He leaned over and kissed the back of her neck.

She wanted to swat him away, but damn, it felt too good! So, all she could do was focus on not moaning aloud in her mother's ear while she went on and on about Matthew the doctor who she could barely remember.

"Anna? You still there, Anna?"

"Ummmm?" She tried to shove Walter away, hearing him chuckle behind her as he disappeared into the kitchen. "Yes, Mom. Right here. You were saying?"

"I was saying that the church is throwing him a big party next weekend. I thought maybe . . . maybe you could try to come home for it?"

Anna sighed. "Mom, you know I can't just fly on home whenever something comes up. I'm sure Matthew will understand." Especially since all she could remember of him was putting a frog in her best friend's desk when they were in elementary school.

"Well, Mrs. Bates and her daughter are going, and you know that Carrie got divorced? Tragic thing. He was cheating with the babysitter. But, she'll be there, with that scrumptious chocolate pecan pie of hers. And don't forget Sally . . ."

It clicked. "Mom, you're trying to play matchmaker from two thousand miles away!"

Her mom made offended noises. "I am _not_! I just thought you might want to come home. It's been so long since we've seen you."

OK, Anna did feel guilty about that. "I miss you, too, but I have a job. Responsibilities. I can't just drop everything."

"Apparently, you have a boyfriend, too. Your grandmother has been talking about it all week."

Anna ground her teeth. Granny promised not to tell!

"I bet this is the 'friend' you're with, isn't it? You better not be talking to me while you're lying naked in his bed."

Anna choked back a laugh. "I'm not naked in his bed, Mom." Although she was basically halfway there.

"Well, tell me about him? Is he nice? What does he do? How does he treat his mother?"

Anna sighed. "Mom, I've got to go. I'll talk to you about it later, OK?"

"You always say you'll talk about it later, but you never do," the older woman wailed. "You used to tell me _everything_, even after Scott was born!"

It was unfair to bring up Scott, but Anna didn't think her mother meant any harm. "Mom, I just don't want you to worry. Everything's fine here."

"Oh my _God_! He has a nose ring, doesn't he?"

"I'm hanging up now, Mom. Tell Dad I love him."

"Tattoos? Is it tattoos?"

"Bye, Mom!" Anna ended the call before her mother had a chance to list every undesirable abnormality she could think of, tossing the phone on the coffee table.

"Do you talk to your mother often?" his voice carried from the kitchen, along with the fragrant odor of coffee. Anna gravitated towards it.

"Too often, if you ask me. She has to have a daily report on my life, or she thinks I don't love her anymore."

He handed her a mug, steam rising from the top. "I take it you haven't told her about . . ."

"Oh, Lord, no! The woman would have a stroke!" Anna took a sip and added sugar he had set out. "I don't tell anyone that stuff."

"They'll think you're crazy," he mumbled.

"And, it's none of their business."

She almost spilt coffee on herself when someone started pounding on the door.

He sat his mug down with a thump, instantly on alert. "Stay right here."

Anna wasn't going to tell him she sure as hell wasn't going to flounce into the living room wearing nothing but his half-buttoned shirt. And, she didn't think anyone who meant them harm would bang on the door hard enough to wake the dead.

After looking through the peep-hole, she heard Walter mutter something along the lines of 'Jesus Christ' before he unlocked and opened the door part of the way, leaning on it, obviously not in the mood to ask anyone in.

"What is it, Agent Mulder?"

"We've been calling you all morning. The Deputy Director has scheduled a meeting for 9:30 about . . . last night, and he wants you there. But, your line was busy."

Walter glanced over his shoulder at the phone. It was off the hook.

Probably a little after-affect of the two of them trying to get to the bedroom in such a hurry.

"Fine. I'll be there." He started to close the door.

Mulder motioned. "Can we come in?"

Skinner glanced at Scully. She just looked apologetic.

"No, Agent Mulder, you may _not_ come in."

Mulder blinked. Not the response he was expecting. "We've been . . . out at the sight all night. I was wondering . . . if I may use your restroom? To freshen up? We don't have time to go home . . ." He seemed uncomfortable about asking.

Anna could hear the conversation from the kitchen as she cradled her coffee in her hands. Her bare legs were hidden by the kitchen counters. When Walter glanced at her over his shoulder, she shrugged.

Reluctantly, he held the door open, and the two agents, looking definitely like they had spent the night in the woods, trudged through.

Scully saw her first, and Anna had to remember to wrap the shirt around her to make sure everything was covered. "Hi, Dana. Fox."

"Hi, Anna," Scully said, a little uncomfortably.

Mulder, already heading up the stairs, paused for a moment. "Oh. Hi." He seemed to think for a moment. "Sorry, sir."

"Just go on, Agent Mulder," Skinner said, clearly exasperated.

"Would you like some coffee, Dana?" Anna asked, trying to keep them from feeling uncomfortable.

"Uh, no thanks. We won't be long. I hope," she added, mumbling.

Skinner couldn't help but ask. "Did you find any other evidence?"

Scully shrugged, lines of exhaustion on her face. "None. But, we did find out who the little girl was. The granddaughter of a ranking official with the Department of Defense."

Anna thought fleetingly of Libby's husband and wondered just how much, if any, the man actually knew of this. He probably wasn't high enough on the totem pole. But then again . . .

Mulder returned, looking much better, and it was Scully's turn.

"Coffee, Mulder?" Anna asked. Hell, if she was standing in a man's kitchen half-naked, the least she could do was offer coffee to his guests.

Mulder brightened, but at his superior's hard stare, he wisely turned it down, trying his best not to get close enough to the kitchen to see if she really wasn't wearing anything but that shirt. "I . . . uh . . . apologize for intruding."

She held up her mug. "You weren't intruding on anything but breakfast."

He looked relieved momentarily, especially when Scully trotted back down the stairs.

Now, it was Skinner's turn to look uncomfortable. "Mulder, Scully, do you mind if I . . . ride with you?" He motioned towards Anna. "She's going to take my car home."

Anna didn't even think about getting home. "I could take a cab?"

"No, no that's quite alright," Mulder quickly answered. "We'll wait." He figured if his boss was going to break rules by allowing someone not with the Bureau to drive his fleet vehicle, then he was serious about it.

"Fine. Give me 5 minutes." He retreated up the stairs, leaving the three of them standing awkwardly downstairs.

Scully spoke first. "How did it go with Gretchen?"

Anna made a face, cupping her hands around the coffee mug at the sudden chill that shivered down her spine. "She didn't even wake up when we handed her over." She hadn't thought about it until now, but she imagined the little girl was terrified when she awoke with even more strangers. "Have they found her next of kin?"

"An aunt. In Maine. The authorities were going to give her a call. But, it seemed most of the immediate family was . . .at the hangar."

"I was afraid of that," Anna sighed.

"So, Agent Fowley dropped you off? Here?" Mulder asked, ignoring Scully's sharp look.

Anna saw it, though, and nodded in response to his question. "Not without a few prying questions of her own."

Scully made a face, which Mulder also ignored. "Did she say anything? About the case?"

"Not a thing. Actually, it was more like she was pumping _me_ for information." She shifted from her sore leg and took a sip of coffee. "I should have asked her if she smoked because the interior of that car smelt worse than that hangar."

At Scully and Mulder's shocked expressions, she paused mid-sip. "What?"

Then, it hit her, and she sat the mug down with a thump, some of the contents splashing over the side.

All ears, Scully crossed her arms, deep in thought. "Tell me what exactly what you talked about."

Carefully, Anna relayed their short conversation, making sure she didn't leave anything out.

"How did she know you had a dog?" Mulder asked, head cocked, clearly deep in thought.

Anna hadn't thought about that. "I . . . don't know."

"Because _he_ told her," Scully said, exasperation evident in her voice. "After all, the dog almost ate him for breakfast. Why can't you _admit_ that she's consorting with the enemy? Mulder, she _is_ the enemy!"

Mulder shot her a warning look. "Not now, Scully . . ."

"You need to face it, Mulder. For some reason, you think her above reproach, but she's not-"

They were interrupted by Skinner stomping down the stairs, tie in hand, coat thrown over his shoulder. He paused before he hit the bottom, noting Scully's hostile posture. "Is everything OK here?"

"No, it is _not_," Scully said.

"We'll fill you in on the ride to the Bureau," Mulder said, clearly wanting away from the situation as fast as possible.

Skinner stared at them both, trying to get a read on what was going on before shaking his head. He made his way to the kitchen and to Anna, handing her the keys. "I'll come by later and pick it up."

"Do you want me to get it to you? I don't mind . . ."

He shook his head, grabbing his unfinished coffee with his free hand while trying to finish knotting his tie with the other. Anna stepped in and finished it for him.

What he wanted to do was haul her back upstairs, but not with the audience in the living area who were studiously trying not to pay them any attention. Having her stand in his kitchen in nothing but his shirt, her hair mussed from sleep and sex, turned him on more than anything. Instead, he gave her a small, lingering kiss. "I'll call you."

"You better."

He had to smile at that. "Lock the door behind us."

"Yes, sir."

"Nice to know you take orders, too," Mulder added, grinning mischievously as they headed for the door, risking the comment despite the sharp look he knew he'd get from the assistant director.

When they were gone, Anna flopped down on the couch to enjoy the rest of her coffee. She found it easy to push the new worries away about Fowley and this cigarette-smoking Spender fellow as her mind wandered back to last night.


	30. Chapter 30

It didn't surprise Anna that she didn't hear from him all day.

After what they'd come across the night before, she didn't want to imagine the chaos at the Hoover Building.

It was strange, but now that their relationship had taken a new path, it was one she was comfortable with, answering some questions she had about them.

At this point, she was determined to enjoy herself, even if it was a fling.

Plus, there were chores she'd been neglecting, and needless to say, Libby demanded to know how her date when – and what in the world happened to her dress.

Anna had to tell her about the interruption, but she only gave vague details about it. It didn't appear it would be something that would be on the evening news, so Anna kept her mouth shut.

Clearly, Libby thought he tore it off her during some passionate, wild sex, and Anna didn't want to tell her otherwise. The real reason seemed even more unbelievable.

After finishing another shift at _Gordo's_, he was waiting for her at her car in the employee parking lot.

Even in the dull light from the street, she could tell he was exhausted.

But, it didn't stop him from greeting her with a kiss that left her mind numb, either, not letting her go until Ace wolf-whistled from the street.

Anna unlocked the doors to her car, trying to catch her breath. "I figured you'd have taken a cab to my place awhile ago to get your car."

"I would have if I wasn't stuck in meetings all day."

"Paperwork heavy on charred bodies, huh?"

"Naturally." He climbed inside her car and leaned back against the head rest.

He was quiet as she drove through the fairly busy streets, even at this time of night, and she thought he must have fallen asleep. Still wired from work, it always took her a little while to wind down.

But, then again, she got more sleep than he did the night before.

He awoke with a start when she pulled into her driveway, her headlights shining on his car, for a moment looking disoriented.

"Do you want to come inside for a minute? Get a cup of coffee?"

"Don't look like I can make it across town?" He climbed out with a groan.

"You don't look like you can make it to the end of the street." Anna retrieved her purse and made her way to the front door, Nero yipping a greeting from inside.

"Good to know I look as bad as I feel," he mumbled, following her inside and flopping on her couch, tossing his briefcase aside.

"Hungry?" Anna asked, making her way to the kitchen, an excited dog wrapping around her legs, ready to be fed.

"Not as hungry as that crazy mutt of yours," she heard him say.

"How did it go today?"

"You don't want to know."

"That bad, huh?" Anna hunted in a bottom cabinet for a can of Nero's food, making a mental note to buy more.

"Painfully so. No answers, at least none that anyone wants to hear. But, there're no plausible answers you can make up for something like that." Kersh was _not_ happy. And that was putting it lightly.

And, then Agent Spender went off and got himself shot inside the damned building. Just how in the hell did _that_ happen?

Probably the same way Krychek seemed to go and come at will.

Anna pushed Nero aside as she scraped the food into his dish, busying herself with the chore before starting a pot of coffee.

"Well, if Mulder can do it all of these years . . ." she paused in the doorway. He was sound asleep on her couch, his head leaned back against the cushions.

Momentarily wondering if she should coax him to bed where he'd be more comfortable, she decided not to wake him. Instead, she tossed a blanket over him, pulling it up to his shoulders. Carefully removing his glasses and setting them aside, she headed to her own bed, her dog at her heels.

* * *

Waking with a start, Anna tried to figure out what had startled her. Eyes bleary, she glanced at the clock.

She hadn't even been asleep for two hours.

Rubbing her eyes, she switched on the light.

It was Nero.

Instead of being curled up on the floor, or even on the bed next to her, he was staring at her, whining a little.

It was unusual for him to wake her. "What is it, boy? Do you need to go out?"

He just whimpered louder.

With a sigh, she threw the blankets back, and Nero trotted out of the room, stopping for a moment to look back at her.

"That's the last time I feed you before bed," she mumbled, not even bothering to toss a robe on over her T-shirt.

But, Nero didn't make the right turn at the end of the hall towards the door. Instead, he glanced at her, and whimpering, trotted into the darkened living room, the only light - the one she left on over the kitchen sink - shining weakly.

Walter wasn't there, the blanket she had covered him with tossed aside.

Wherever he was, he hadn't gone far. His shoes were still sitting at the end of the couch.

Nero was sitting in the doorway of the kitchen, staring, still whining.

Anna heard water running. Following the sound, she walked past Nero into the kitchen.

He was standing over the sink, breathing heavily, watching the water swirl down the drain, only occasionally throwing some on his face.

Nightmares.

After all, Nero would know. He'd nosed her awake many times from them.

Funny that he'd recognize the same fear in someone else.

* * *

It started the same way as it did most every night. The smell of the jungle, the chattering of distant gunfire, the feel of the humidity clinging to his skin. It went from a normal nighttime mission for information purposes, only to switch to the bloodbath he barely escaped from with his life.

Only this time, it was a little different.

The stench of burning bodies cloyingly hovered over them all, a detail previously unnoticed.

And Anna. She was there. Running just ahead of them.

He called out to her, but she only ran faster.

It was all he could do to keep up, his heart pumping in time to his footfalls on the jungle floor.

Just ahead, a clearing. He skidded to a halt, only to find himself standing at the end of a large cliff. Looking down, it was almost as if he were standing at the pits of hell. Fire licked upward, almost as if it had a mind of its own, reaching for him, inviting him down.

Anna was no where to be found.

He cried out her name, but it was lost in the raging inferno at his feet.

Peering into the flames, afraid of what he'd see, but having to know, he thought he saw a face, an arm reaching up for help as she was swallowed by the flames . . .

And then he woke up.

Breathing heavily, heart pounding wildly, for a moment he wondered exactly where he was.

Struggling to a sitting position, he rubbed his face, trying to rid his mind of the imagines that seemed burned into it, all of the things he'd seen over the years ganging up on him in his sleep.

You would think it was the one time a man could get some peace.

Loosening his tie as he went, tossing it carelessly on a chair, he found his way to the kitchen. His rolling stomach couldn't handle drinking water, but he sure as hell could use the coolness of it on his perspiring face.

He couldn't save her. In the end, he lost her anyway.

Focusing so hard on the water swirling down the drain as his heart rate slowed, he didn't hear her enter the room, standing in the doorway, her dog at her feet.

When he finally looked up, he only locked eyes with her for a moment, before he looked away. Not quite sure if he was ashamed over his reaction or just ashamed at getting caught, he wasn't quite sure what to say.

But, he didn't have to say anything with her. He should have known that.

She was there, her arms wrapped around his waist, hands on his chest, her cheek against his back.

He knew his shirt was soaked with sweat, could feel the stickiness of it as it cooled on his skin and wanted to warn her off.

It had been so long since anyone had even offered compassion, forgetting what it was like to have someone soothe the demons away.

He didn't know how long they stood that way as his heart rate slowed and his breathing returned to normal.

"I didn't mean to wake you."

His voice was deep, rumbling against her cheek where she leaned on his back, offering what little strength she had to offer.

"You didn't. Nero did."

"The dog?"

"He . . . ah . . . knows. He's woken me from several."

They were quiet for a moment. Anna wanted to ask him if he wanted to talk about it, but somehow, she didn't think he did.

"Was it . . . what happened the other night?"

He took a ragged breath. "Yes. No. Hell, I don't know. It's a . . . combination of things."

She rubbed her cheek absently against his back, not quite sure of what to say. How could she tell him she understood? _Could_ she understand? She hadn't seen what he'd seen, done what he'd done.

But, in a way, she did. She'd had nightmares ever since the accident, fighting anyone in her path that tried to wake her at first.

And each time she awoke, she found all of it wasn't really a nightmare. And all she had to warn off the pain and loneliness was a big, hairy dog.

"I know what you're doing," he finally said.

"What're you talking about?"

"Overanalyzing. That brain of yours is running a mile a minute, isn't it?"

He swore he could feel her smile against his back.

Some of the tension left his body, only to be replaced with a totally different emotion. Probably had something to do with the fact that he knew she was wearing only a T-shirt.

"How do you know?" she asked.

"Because I do it myself." He shifted, and she let him go.

He didn't let her get far, pulling him into her arms, against his chest, breathing deeply of the scent of her hair.

But, that wasn't all he wanted.

And, Anna knew it.

It was all she knew to do to chase away the vestiges of nightmares, what might have been and what could have happened seeping away as she led him to her bedroom, locking out a world full of terror and unanswered questions as they made love until they were too exhausted to even dream.

* * *

It started innocently enough. The prickling at the back of her neck. The brief flash of realization when she wondered if she'd seen that face before in a crowd, on the street, at the restaurant. The hang-ups when she answered her phone, both at home and her cell.

Mostly, she shook it off, thinking herself a ninny for even thinking she was being followed. How silly was that?

What little time she'd spent in the presence of The Lone Gunmen were making her paranoid as hell.

Walter didn't like her spending time with them. He said they were off their rockers and should be avoided at all costs.

All she did was laugh at his comments, telling him he didn't have any reason to be jealous. Besides, they actually never discussed government conspiracies or secrets.

Unless she asked them. But, she didn't tell Walter that.

It would just make him grumble all the more.

For the past few months, the only nights they spent apart where the ones he had to work. Which were actually quite a few, she soon learned. He was on the road a bunch.

Eventually, she learned not to ask.

She worried about him on those nights, finding it hard to sleep, so afraid her cell phone would ring, and it would be Mulder or Scully telling her to get to the hospital.

Why didn't he have a safe job?

Then again, it didn't do her late husband any good. He'd been an engineer at a local brewery and look where it got him.

Although the words hadn't been spoken between them, she loved Walter all the same, despite his frustrating attempts at keeping her in the dark and his temper that was more often than not directed at his agents, not her.

She saw a side of him that he rarely showed to anyone else. His sense of humor. The way he truly cared about those in need. And the fact that, no matter the training or the firearms he carried, he was not a killer. She didn't doubt it for a moment.

And, she loved him even more for it.

That's why she didn't bother burdening him with her petty little feelings of eyes on her, watching her. He had too much to worry about as it was. And what little amount of time they spent together between jobs and friends, she didn't want to mar by discussing anything that would cause him to worry just that much more.

But, that was until the night she got the phone call.

Fumbling on the nightstand for her cell, Anna finally answered it.

"_Anna_! Omigod, Anna, you've _got_ to get out of there!"

Anna was instantly awake, struggling into a sitting position. "Libby? Are you alright? What's wrong?"

"I saw them! In your house! You've _got_ to get out of there!"

She felt Walter stir next to her. "Libby, I'm not home. I'm in Crystal City."

"But . . . your car . . ."

"I took a cab. The 4th of July parades had traffic stopped up." She could hear Libby's terrified breathing through the receiver. "Libby, you've got to calm down. Are you alright?" She glanced at Walter, who was trying to figure out what's going on.

That made two of them.

"I'm f-fine. I . . . I called the police. They're on their way. But, there's someone in your house! I saw them through the window when I was up with the babies . . ." She started to get frantic again.

Anna threw back the blankets, heart still pounding. "Stay inside. Lock your doors. I'll be there in a few minutes." She flipped the phone shut. "It's Libby. She says there's someone in my house." She searched for her clothes as she talked, finally giving up and dragging a pair of jeans and a shirt of hers out of his closet.

Luckily, they'd started keeping clothes at each other's homes. Made it easier that way.

Walter was immediately out of the bed. "Did she call the police?"

"Before she called me. She thought . . . I was home. My car's in the driveway." Briefly, she worried about her dog, glad she left him in the backyard and not in the house. She glanced at him as she slipped on her shoes. He was just pulling a shirt over his head, grabbing his gun and ID from the table by the doorway.

She knew that look.

"It's probably just a random break-in."

"Probably." He hoped so, but somehow, he didn't believe it.

It was pandemonium when they turned on her street, police cruisers parked helter-skelter, blue and white lights flashing so brightly in the dark, Anna had to blink to adjust her eyesight. Neighbors watching from doorways, some milling on the street close by, the police keeping them back.

To be so close to the nation's capital, the crime rate in her neighborhood was actually fairly low. Hence, the response from the police.

She could hear Nero's frantic barking when she opened the door, relieved he hadn't been harmed.

They were stopped by a policeman at the end of her driveway who looked about 12 years old. "Step away, please. No one goes onto the property but police personnel."

"But . . . this is _my_ house!"

The cop didn't look impressed. "There's an investigation in process. Burglary attempt."

"_Assistant Director_ Walter Skinner, FBI," Walter pulled his ID and flashed it to the cop, making sure to emphasis his title.

Now, the cop looked a little more impressed.

It came in handy to be dating an FBI agent.

Skinner was in no mood for the bullshit that accompanied FBI/police relations, so he skipped them entirely. "Let me talk to your supervisor."

Not too thrilled by being bossed around by a Bureau agent, even if he was high on the totem poll, the cop made a call on his radio. Soon, a much more seasoned agent appeared - a lieutenant.

Introductions were made.

"Mrs. Greensburg, we received a 911 call by a neighbor at 0234 stating that someone was in this house. Also, we were told the resident was at home?" He glanced at Anna, waiting for a reply.

Anna was too busy watching people go in and out of her house and almost missed her cue. "Oh . . . um, that's my car. She probably thought I was here."

"But, you were not? Have not been all evening?"

Walter shifted impatiently beside her. "I don't see where this line of questioning is necessary, Lieutenant."

The officer could play this game, too. "As you well know, Assistant Director Skinner, we need to account for everyone that is involved, including the homeowner."

Walter didn't argue, although he looked like he wanted to, so Anna answered the question.

"I haven't been here since noon."

The officer made a note on his pad. Glancing at her, then Walter, he scribbled something else. "I'm assuming you were with Assistant Director Skinner?"

"All evening," Walter answered curtly.

The lieutenant left it at that.

"Is this . . . did you catch anybody?" Anna asked worriedly, stealing glances at her house, every light blazing through the windows onto the lawn.

"It appears the culprit had escaped by the time the first officer arrived on the scene. We're still verifying that."

"Can I . . . go inside?" She was glad – very glad – that she was not there. Who knew in her quiet little neighborhood something could happen like this!

"Not yet. We're still looking for any other messages."

"_Other_ messages?" Walter asked, impatiently.

The lieutenant paused for a moment, then made a decision. "Come with me."

They climbed under the yellow police tape strung across her front yard, Anna afraid of what she might find. Wanting to take Walter's hand, she immediately dropped that idea.

Not while he was in FBI mode. Might make him look soft in front of the Washington PD.

There were two officers around her front door, one taking pictures, the other brushing for prints.

They moved away, and Anna took a sharp breath.

The knife was small, but lethal, sharpened enough to dig into the solid wood of her front door.

But, it was the note that made her knees weak, scrawled quickly on a piece of paper.

_Next time . . ._

That was all it said.

Now, she was really, _really_ glad she wasn't home.

"Do you have any enemies, Mrs. Greensburg?" the lieutenant asked, watching her for a reaction. So far, she looked just as shocked as he thought she would.

But, AD Skinner did not.

Anna swallowed once. "No. None that I can think of."

"Anyone at your place of employment, anyone in this neighborhood?" he asked, fishing.

She shook her head, trying her best not to look at the threatening note, those two little words scaring her more than she'd like to admit.

* * *

He'd ignored it too long.

He thought it was all in his head. His concerns about getting involved with anyone else, at the danger he would put her in, were just that – concerns.

But, the moment he saw the note stabbed to her front door, he knew.

They were going to use her to get to him.

He would have thought now that this 'syndicate,' as Mulder called it, was eliminated that the whole mess would just disappear.

Apparently not.

And although Alex Krychek was the rogue, the wild card who'd struck out for answers on his own, Skinner wondered if it was him who did this.

Just the thought made his hands curl into fists at his side as the lieutenant took Anna through the house to see if anything was missing.

He wanted to tell her this was nothing, but he couldn't lie to her.

She knew. The look on her face told him that much.

But, Krychek had his leverage. In the form of his health.

Perhaps the son of a bitch figured he would sacrifice his own health before he'd let someone hurt Anna and come for her instead.

But, Skinner had a suspicion he knew who was behind this, a man they had hoped died with his precious Syndicate, but discovered later did not.

He had powers that reached far and wide.

And he apparently was still after the vaccine to protect himself against some sort of alien invasion.

Skinner snorted at the idea as he waited on Anna and the detective to return, scrutinizing everyone that came in or out of the house.

Anyone could be a threat, disguised as a simple repairman.

Or even a policeman.

He had to keep an eye on her.

Barging his way into the house, he asked several policemen, none too politely, where she was.

Finally, he found her on the back patio, alone with Nero.

He almost had to lean against the door frame in relief.

No matter what anyone thought, it wasn't silly that someone could hurt her in a house full of policemen.

C.G.B. Spender could do just about whatever he wanted, even without his Syndicate.


	31. Chapter 31

References to "The Sixth Extinction" eps. Oh, and HAPPY NEW YEAR!

* * *

Anna made sure she stuck with the tour groups, everyone snapping photos of the rows upon rows of white markers that marked Arlington Cemetery in the rain. Safety in numbers.

She hated it. She hated being careful and hated making sure she was never alone. She was officially a paranoid freak.

After what had happened to Mulder, who'd apparently gone ten kinds of crazy for a reason she was having a hard time believing, she probably had every right to be paranoid. Walter had been missing for several days while dealing with Mulder in the hospital, and she knew better than to ask. He wouldn't answer her questions anyway.

That pissed her off. Just a little bit.

And, it appeared this Krychek fellow was back. From what she could gather, Walter wasn't helping him like he wanted, so he'd managed to bring back that damned nanotechnology. Right in his office, too.

Proved no one was safe anywhere.

Anna had spent the last few days in the hospital with him. It wasn't like the first time. The damage wasn't as severe, according to his doctor.

But, that didn't mean the damage to her soul was any less. Sure, she knew what was causing it – sort of. And she knew how and why – sort of. But, it didn't make the physical pain of watching him suffer any easier.

Pawns in a game. That's all they were. It would kill them all. And whoever else happened in their path.

She wanted to scream out in frustration, to fight, to strike out against a world she apparently didn't understand and never did. But, the enemy was a faceless one, just beyond the shadows, threatening her freedom and her life, as well as Walter's.

She knew the break-in at her house a few weeks before was because of this. It was all tied together in some twisted way. But, they didn't tell the cops. There was nothing those men could do about it, anyway. If these people didn't want to be found, they wouldn't. Plus, who would believe their story?

All she could do was keep looking over her shoulder, learning to listen to her instincts that told her when not to enter a room or go out by herself.

In other words, she lived like a hunted animal. Sure, most of the time, she didn't even think about it, but the facts were always there, just on the corner of her consciousness. There could be someone out there. Watching. Waiting for the right moment. Would they kill her? Give her some strange disease? Kidnap her?

She didn't know. And she tried hard not to think about. For her sake, as well as Walter's. All they could do was draw comfort from each other, believing maybe, just maybe, things would turn out alright in the end.

She knew he worried, and she tried not to feel like a burden. It was rare for them to discuss it. When they were together, all they wanted to do was live like a normal couple with normal everyday problems. He felt responsible for her, and if it made him feel better to have her check in with him throughout the day, that's what she'd do.

But, apparently, he was still in just as much danger. But, at least Mulder and Scully knew why he did what he did, why he funneled information unwillingly to who they saw as the enemy.

He had no choice.

Now that he was back at work, she found some time to resume her photography, her one outlet away from the secrets and lies and she found herself imbedded in, threatening all she held dear.

Arlington was always busy. But, even in the constant summer drizzle, humidity heavy in the air, it was just as bustling as ever, trams coming and going along their designated routes. As it had been continuously for years, the Army's changing of the guard drew a large crowd when it switched every half-hour, the wreath-laying ceremonies on every hour.

Anna had visited all the sights before – Confederate General Robert E. Lee's plantation, for which the cemetery was named, John F. Kennedy's 'eternal flame', as well as the Marine Corp Iwo Jima statue erected just outside the cemetery gates.

At first, she was careful to stay with the crowds. But, the whining children and chattering of the tourists did not mesh with her moody frame of mind. Making sure she stayed within sight of people, she drifted away from the crowds, stopping here and there to study a marker or take a photo, her wind breaker zipped up against the rain.

The best photo ops were always far away from the crowd.

Behind General Lee's plantation home were a small Civil War plot and the old amphitheater ruins, more white headstones stretching as far as she could see beyond.

Her uncle was buried out here. She'd managed to find his grave on an earlier visit. An uncle she never knew taken from their family with a war many didn't want to fight. A useless war, some said.

Deep in thought, she stepped around a white van, workers busily cutting grass in the rain nearby as she crossed the road behind the plantation.

Anna never thought anyone dying for ones country was useless. It was too sad to think otherwise.

Running her hand along the top of the tombstones as she wandered by, her camera hanging from a strap around her neck, her mind drifted to other wars – unnamed wars – fought to save a country, not just by soldiers, but by those not in uniform.

Few tourists ventured out this far, but several hearty ones waved at her as she entered the area where her uncle was buried. She waved back, glad for the company. At least she was keeping her promise to Walter, staying within sight of others.

The grounds were immaculate, and she looked up, spotting another white van, workers running over the grass like ants.

Or was it the same van as before?

And didn't the cemetery workers have marked vans? Not unmarked ones?

And why were they cutting grass in the rain?

Sure, it was customary for her to feel just a little spooked nowadays, but as the back of her neck began to tingle, she knew she was in trouble.

Appearing as if she were taking a photo of the back of the plantation house, she quickly snapped a photo or two of the workers and their van. If she had proof someone was following her, maybe she wouldn't feel so ridiculous.

Turning away from them, she tried to saunter, like she didn't have a care in the world, towards the small group of tourists just at the top of the hill perusing the headstones.

She could call the cops, but what would she say. "Hi, I think I'm being followed by cemetery workers. No, they're not threatening me, just working away, minding their own business."

No, that would never do.

So, she did the next best thing she could think of. Innocently taking her cell phone out of her coat pocket, hurrying just a bit more than before and dying to look behind her to see if someone was following her, she punched in his number. If anything, just to hear his voice to calm her jangled nerves. Sure, she didn't call him much at work, but this was different.

The tourists still weren't paying her much attention, chattering among themselves. But, they represented safety, and she swore she'd stick to them like glue until they were in a more-populated area of the cemetery when she got to them.

Cursing her stupidity, she put the phone to her ear, her finger on the send button. A noise from behind, nothing loud, just a sense someone was there, made her quicken her steps just that much more.

But, it was too late.

He grabbed her across the shoulders, putting his grimy hand over her mouth and pulling her against him, making her gasp. Cold steel pressed into her side. It was too fast for her to scream, fighting to breathe through his filthy hand over her face as well as to keep from getting drug away to God knows where.

"You scream, girlie girl, you die," the voice whispered, his rancid breath vile against her cheek.

In her struggle, her cell phone slipped from her fingers.

Frightened beyond belief, Anna's eyes widened as he dug the weapon into her side even deeper, her mind racing with all the possibilities.

Only one managed to surface.

She had to get away.

Or at least get someone's attention long enough to know what had happened to her.

Still, the tourists didn't look her way as he drug her to the waiting van, the other workers vanished. Anna stared at the tourists, willing them to turn around, debating if it would be worth it to scream to get their attention with a gun in her side.

But, they didn't see her, just laughed among themselves, not a care in the world.

_Ohcrapohcrapohcrapohcrap . . ._

She did keep struggling, despite his gun, more to remove his beefy hand from her nose, so she could breathe, desperate to get away, but too terrified to do anything with the gun in her side.

At the van, other hands were waiting to take her, to keep her captive, to use her for whatever hidden agenda they had.

But, dammit, not without a fight! She'd gone through too much lately to just lie down and take it!

Pulling at her beloved camera around her neck, she felt the strap give way. It clattered to the sidewalk next to the van.

Just what she wanted to hear.

One of the tourists looked up at the noise just as her attacker was shoving her inside the waiting van, gun now hidden in his jacket pocket, so he could use both hands to keep her from getting away.

"_Hey_! What are you doing?" one of the men called out, making his way towards them.

Anna managed to scream once before they slammed the doors shut on her – pistol be damned - just to make sure anyone within earshot knew this was totally against her will.

The van was dark, smelly. Someone else had her, his hand just as grimy as the first covering her mouth.

But, she'd had enough.

Feeling the van moving beneath her, knowing the further away she got, the less chance anyone had of finding her, she bit down on his fingers until she tasted blood.

He yowled.

Panicked, she managed to launch herself at the door handle, the tombstones zipping by as they careened through the park.

_If I can just get the doors open . . ._

Her captor snatched her by her hair, and her head jerked back until she thought her neck would snap.

"Come here, you bitch. You're not going anywhere."

"_Let me go!_" She tried to kick and gouge at the man behind her, but he just held onto her hair tighter until tears blurred her vision.

She heard the snapping of a blade, and it was biting into her neck before she realized it.

His chuckle in her ear was evil-sounding, to say the least.

Now, she held still.

"Hey, don't hurt her! He didn't want her bloody, remember?" The driver called out, the man who had grabbed her.

He held the knife at her throat even tighter, and she made a noise of pain. "You'll be still for me now, won't you, bitch?" he whispered in her ear.

Despite the stuffy interior, Anna felt cold. Freezing cold that went all the way to her heart. She managed to nod, the blade still digging deeper in her neck.

Now that she was scared into silence, he tied her wrists behind her, then her feet, all the while keeping the blade pointed at her. When he was done, he snapped the blade shut, wiping his hands on his pants. "They didn't say she'd fight like a banshee, either. The bitch bit me!" he called out to his partner.

"Well, hell, you probably deserved it."

"Just shut up and get us out of here before the fuckin' cops arrive."

"You're the boss."

The last thing Anna saw out the back door of the van before he tied a blindfold over her eyes was the Iwo Jima memorial, the oversized American flag waving in the breeze.


	32. Chapter 32

Skinner checked his messages. One from Anna, almost an hour ago. She was at Arlington.

Absently, he stood up, peering out the blinds behind his desk, not seeing any of the activity below. His desk was cluttered with work that had piled up in his absence, but the latest that had happened with Mulder had him weary of it all.

None of it was worth it. He'd die, and the whole lot of them would be glad he was gone.

An emergency vehicle, sirens wailing, flew down the street in front of the Hoover Building, but the noise was barely audible through the window.

He knew he couldn't keep her locked up in his apartment all day. Although he damned sure wished it was an option.

Mulder was still at home recuperating. Some sort of weird brain surgery that he didn't even want to contemplate. Not only that, but he had a dead agent on his hands. Diana Fowley shot in an 'apparent' robbery attempt in her apartment.

Not that he believed that for a second. Scully was right all along. She was involved in this . . . this whatever it was with that smoking bastard who'd done this to Mulder.

Not that they could prove anything.

And that's what made it so frustrating.

There was a soft knock at his door.

It was Scully.

"Sorry, sir, but your assistant wasn't at her desk." She looked hesitant, unusual for her.

He turned away from the window. "Don't worry about it, Agent Scully. How's Agent Mulder doing?"

Not once did he ever think it strange that none of them ever called the other by their first names. Not only was it protocol, but it was predictable, soothing.

She managed a small smile. "Much better. Going stir crazy."

"Does he know? About Agent Fowley?"

Her smile faltered. "I told him. He . . . believes it. But, he doesn't want to."

He motioned towards the file in her hand. "What about your report? Did anyone believe it upstairs?"

She made a face. "It was . . . not well accepted. But, they can't deny that someone took Mulder and did things to him – medically speaking. That we have proof of."

"For what good it would do us." He couldn't help it. Bitterness ruled the day.

She studied him closely. "How about you? The doctor checked everything out?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "Just like last time. It's 'disappeared,' so I've been told. I feel like some sort of guinea pig with all the poking and prodding they've done on me recently."

"You should have told us." Scully's voice was quiet, just a hint of accusation in her words.

He knew what she was talking about. The deal he'd made with Krychek. Information or his life.

A sharp comment was on the tip of his tongue when his phone rang. "Would you excuse me, Agent Scully?" he asked, picking up the phone, not waiting for her response. "Skinner."

There was silence on the other line for a moment.

Skinner paused for a moment, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. "I don't know who this is, but this is a private line . . ."

"This is Lieutenant Pike with the Washington Police Department."

"The police department?" Immediately, concern bloomed in his chest, but he squelched it. Anna was fine. She had to be. This was some sort of wrong number.

"Who may I ask are you?" Pike asked him.

Skinner shifted impatiently. "Assistant Director Walter Skinner with the FBI. And, since you called me, wouldn't you know this information?"

"All we have is this number. It seems that a cell phone with your number plugged into it, but not dialed, was found at a crime scene."

_What the hell kind of sick joke was this?_

"Where is this crime scene, Lieutenant Pike?" His patience was running thin.

"Arlington National Cemetery."

Skinner could feel the blood drain from his face, his fingers gripping the phone so hard, he thought it might break.

His eyes met Scully's, and she frowned, stepping forward just a bit, her head cocked in concern. He had to look away, his hand on the back of his chair for support, his heart pounding wildly in his throat.

His first instinct was to slam the phone down and break all traffic laws getting to the cemetery.

But, it would be too late. What's done was done.

"Hello? Mr. Skinner? Are you there?"

He shut his eyes, focusing on taking a deep breath. Then another. "What happened?" he managed to croak. Visions of aftermaths of violent crimes he had seen floated through his mind, but he shoved them away.

"Kidnapping. Snatched the woman up and shoved her in a van." He vaguely heard shuffling, as if the lieutenant was going through paperwork. "Give me a second, and I'll get you her name. I got it from the phone company somewhere . . ."

"Anna Greensburg."

She was alive. So far. He clung to what little comfort he could in that knowledge.

The lieutenant paused. "How did you know?"

Skinner rubbed his eyes, his mind still trying to come to terms with what was going on. "I got a message from her. An hour ago. She was going to Arlington for the day. To take pictures."

"Right. The camera was on the path where she dropped it."

Skinner suddenly had a vision of some faceless men manhandling her, stuffing her against her will into a van as she struggled vainly.

It was all he could to keep his anger in check. "Witnesses?"

"Several. But, they couldn't stop it."

"What about the van?" The questions were spewing out of his mouth automatically, questions he would ask about any crime.

But, now it was personnel.

Vaguely, he heard Scully talking into her own cell phone quietly, but it was all he could do to hold it together.

"Got on the interstate heading south. That's all we know." There was a pause. "Mr. Skinner?"

"What?"

"If you don't mind me asking, how do you know this woman? I mean, all we had to your identity was your number dialed into her phone . . ."

_I love this woman. She's all I live for. The only reason I can make it through any godforsaken day. . ._

He had to keep his emotions at bay if he was going to find her. So, he did what he did best. He shoved those emotions aside, ignoring the question. "Listen, Lieutenant, I'll be down there in 10 minutes. Here's my cell number if something comes up."

Without waiting for a reply, he slammed down the phone. Running on autopilot, he reached for his jacket, pulling it on, his hands shaking slightly.

After leaving curt instructions with his assistant to cancel all his appointments for the rest of the day, he made his way down the hall, ignoring everyone in his path.

His mind was only on Anna. And getting his hands on whoever did this to her.

When Scully followed him on the elevator, he stared at her a moment, almost forgetting she was in his office during the entire conversation. "What do you think you're doing, Agent Scully?"

She straightened her jacket, pushing the button for the parking garage. "Going with you." The doors slid shut.

The last thing he needed was an entourage. "There's no need in that, Agent . . ."

"She's my friend, too," Scully said, her eyes boring into his. "And, you don't have to do this alone."

He looked away, surprised to feel tears pricking his eyes. That's the last thing he needed to do – to break down on one of his agents. Useless, such emotions.

They made it to Arlington in record time, flashing their badges at the gate. When the yellow crime scene tape came into view, he felt his heart constrict in his chest involuntarily.

This is it. This is where it happened.

They were out of the car, once again showing their IDs to the police officer keeping the small crowd at bay.

For some reason, a small sliver of his soul thought maybe this was a mistake. Maybe she just lost her cell phone, and it was some strange coincidence that a woman was plucked from the cemetery by some unknown assailants against her will.

Even that little bit of hope died when he saw her camera lying on the sidewalk, lens broken, an evidence marker waving in the breeze.

She wouldn't do that on purpose, break her camera like that.

He crouched down, getting closer to it, as if it held all the answers to what happened, using his pen to sort through the broken glass. Useless motions, but he had to do something.

It made him physically ill to think about it.

Scully stood quietly nearby, studying the scene, the paltry amount of evidence -mostly Anna's belongings - all that remained as she watched him wrestle with his emotions, giving him space. That's what he'd want. Not useless words of comfort. Just time to sort through it in his own way.

A police officer approached.

"Assistant Director Skinner?"

Skinner immediately stood, his stoic mask back in place. "Yes?"

Although Scully could see the volatile emotions just under the surface. It was his eyes. They gave him away. And, the tone of his voice was flat, almost as if he had already given her up for dead.

She automatically moved in closer to him, for some reason feeling as if she had to try to protect him from what would happen next.

"Lieutenant Pike. We spoke earlier?"

_Like I could forget._ The moment he heard she was gone would be lodged in his brain for the rest of his life, no matter how this turned out. All he did was nod his head impatiently.

"We spoke with the witnesses." Pike pointed a few feet away, a small group of people wearing ball caps and carrying back packs huddled worriedly together, not expecting to witness a crime like they had on their trip to the nation's capital.

_Welcome to Washington_, Skinner thought grimly.

The officer told him what they saw, offering up the small bit of information he had. All it did was reinforce his vision, clarifying what she had gone through.

And there's no telling where she was now. Out there somewhere. Alone. Frightened. Possibly injured . . .

His heart constricted at the thought.

"They didn't see the plates? No marks on the van?" Scully asked, interrupting his thoughts.

At least her mind was working properly as she asked the right questions.

"None."

"How did it get onto the property?" she asked.

Good damn question. Skinner looked at the officer, waiting for an answer.

"We checked at the gate. The Army often subsides out some maintenance work. All their credentials checked out."

_They knew. They knew she was going to the cemetery today._

_Someone was watching all along. Planning this. Waiting for the right moment_.

Stricken by the thought, it was all he could to concentrate on what the officer was saying. He was pointing where her phone was found, another orange marker waving in the breeze.

The grass was too thick for footprints. Fingerprints were a non-issue.

"The front gate made copies of their IDs. Standard procedure. We're checking into them right now."

"They'll be fake." It was the first time Skinner had spoken.

The officer looked at him strangely. "We figured that. But, we have to check it out all the same." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Do you have any ideas? This seems highly premeditated, not random. Since she's . . . involved with you, I thought maybe . . ." He shrugged, his words dying out.

"I have some ideas. But, nothing I can prove."

"With all due respect, we still need to check them out . . ."

"I know that, dammit!" Skinner didn't want to be arguing with this man. There was too much to do besides stand her and let her get further and further away.

Pike glanced at Scully, and she shrugged. He sighed, almost as if he had something he didn't really want to say, but had to anyway.

"I also need . . . to get a statement. From you."

Skinner fixed his steely eyes on the officer. "For what?"

"I . . . ah . . . need to know where you were. From about 1000 hours to 1030 hours. For the report."

Skinner stared at him incredulously. "You think . . . _I_ did this?"

Pike squared his jaw. "It's standard procedure."

Skinner stepped closer, using his taller stature for intimidation purposes. "Let me tell you something you piece of . . ."

Scully stepped between the two of them, knowing she had to talk fast. "Lieutenant Pike, the Assistant Director will answer your questions. But, someone . . . very close to him has been kidnapped, and now isn't the time or place for it."

Pike glared at her for a moment. But, the barely-contained rage on the Assistant Director's face said it all. He'd seen that same look on relatives in other cases. Innocent relatives. It was a difficult emotion to fake. Nodding once, he said, "I'll be in touch" before marching away.

Scully took a deep breath. She honestly thought her superior would rip the guy to shreds for such an insane suggestion.

"They got her, didn't they?"

Skinner whirled around at the sound of the familiar voice. "Mulder, what are you doing out here?"

Head still bandaged, face wan, Mulder shrugged. "Scully called me. I thought I might help. Unofficially, of course." Dressed in a pair of ragged jeans and an old Knicks jersey, he certainly looked 'unofficially' like an FBI agent.

He reiterated his first question. "It was him, wasn't it? Spender?"

Skinner ground his teeth in frustration. Just the mention of the name made his blood boil. "I should have shot the son of a bitch when I had the opportunity."

"That makes two of us," Mulder admitted.

"Has anyone . . . contacted you?"

"No."

"They will when they're ready." Mulder's voice was apologetic.

Skinner didn't want to think about that. He didn't like being a puppet in their play, but it appeared as if he would have to do what they said to get her back.

He'd do it. Whatever it was.

But, not if he could get to her first.

"Who's going to call her parents?" Scully asked quietly.

Skinner hadn't thought about that.

If they hated him before, they sure as hell would hate him now.

"I imagine the Washington PD will." He couldn't. Not now. He'd answer their questions later, deal with their accusations. But, not now. Not while this was still so fresh in his mind.

Mulder, interested in the camera, watched as one of the officers dusted it for prints. When he was done, he gingerly picked it up from the ground, glass tinkling as it hit the sidewalk. "Do you mind if I take this, sir?"

"Why?"

"I'd like to get the photos developed. You know, see if there's anything on there that can help us."

Skinner shrugged. It was bad when that was the only lead they had. "Fine. Just . . . get it back to me. She'd . . .want it back." If they ever found her.

No. He couldn't think like that. He had to work. To talk to the witnesses, see if he could coax some small detail from their minds.

Plus, he had phone calls to make. Starting with the last known address and number for a Mr. C.G.B. Spender.

* * *

Anna could smell her own fear, heavy about her like a wet, soggy blanket as she struggled the best she could against her bonds. For some reason, they'd blindfolded and gagged her, so it was like she was living in a cocoon with nothing but the sound of the tires on the road and the chatting of the two men to keep her sane.

By now, the man who had tied her up had crawled into the front seat with his companion-in-crime. She could hear them chatting away as if they hadn't just snatched a woman from a public place and had her trussed up like a Christmas pig, scared out of her wits.

From her awkward position on the floor of the dirty van, she could barely wiggle, and she was soon cramped. Struggling against her bonds, her wrists were soon sticky with blood from her raw wrists, and she had to give up.

With the gag in her mouth digging into the sides of her face, it was hard to breathe, and she found herself almost to the point of hyperventilation in her panic.

_Come on, Anna, keep it together. You've got to figure a way out of this._

She didn't know how long she'd been riding. It all felt like an eternity as her heart thudded in her chest.

To calm her nerves, she listened. Straining to hear noises. Anything. Maybe that would give her a clue to where she was.

It didn't help much, although she was fairly sure they were not on the interstate any longer. The speeds didn't quite match up.

Although she was certain they wouldn't be driving too far over the speed limit. Not unless they were stupid.

And this seemed too planned out to be stupid.

This was what Walter was afraid of ever since he saw that note stuck on her door. And before that, if memory served.

She swallowed once.

Did he know? Did _anyone_ know? How long would it take before the police identified her as the missing person?

A muffled sob escaped from her gagged mouth, and she choked back another one.

He'd blame himself.

But, she did know one thing. He'd move heaven and earth to find her.

If there was anything left to find.

She couldn't think about what he was going through, her frantic mind switching to yet another unanswered question.

_Who did this?_

In the back of her mind, she was afraid she knew the answer.

So, he didn't die during that facacta brain surgery he did with Mulder.

That's the only person it could be.

Eventually, the van slowed, and her ears perked up, trying to catch any new noises. When they turned sharply to the right, she had to brace herself by pressing her feet against the side of the van to keep from falling over.

It was a gravel road. She could hear it crunching underneath the tires.

"There it is," she heard one say. Sounded like the driver.

"Let's get her into it. And get out of here."

Anna almost panicked. Were they going to leave her somewhere? For who? For what?

The driver backed the van slowly, finally grinding to a halt. She could hear their doors opening and footfalls coming along either side.

When they opened the backdoor, she realized her blindfold had slid a little down her face in her struggles, weak sunlight clearly visible.

But, she sure as hell wasn't going to let them know that.

All she could make out were old, abandoned buildings squatting in the overgrowth.

A farm. It was an old farm.

And they were hauling her to another van. A red one with writing on the side she couldn't quite make out.

Of course. They'd switch vehicles. Who wouldn't, not with a description of the white one posted all over the wire.

At least, she hoped it was on the be-on-the-lookout list.

They dumped her into the back of this van. At least it smelt better, almost a floral scent. Like carpet cleaner.

"What're we goin' do with the other one?" one of her captors asked.

"I dunno. He said to get rid of it. Burn it, I guess. Don't forget to take the tag. We'll toss it out down the road aways."

As they were pulling away, she could smell the scent of gasoline.

They were burning their tracks. Making it harder for anyone to find her.

Harder for Walter to find her.

One tear seeped out of her crooked blindfold, making a filthy track down her smudged cheek.


	33. Chapter 33

It all boiled down to one thing.

She was at their mercy. Searching all afternoon yielded not a thing. No clues. No leads. Nothing. All the numbers he could find for Spender had been disconnected, and the few places he'd taken up residence were cleaned out.

All they could do was wait.

Scully, bless her heart, was following through on a list of stolen white vans, assuming correctly, that these thugs wouldn't parade around in their own vehicle.

By now, they'd probably dumped the van. Switched vehicles. Dragged her further and further away.

Or, she could be just a block away.

That was what made it so difficult to bear. She could be anywhere.

Skinner turned onto her street, his headlights shining off the darkened houses. He'd worked fiercely all afternoon, refusing to stop and rest.

He couldn't. Not when she was out there in their hands.

_This is your fault, Walt. You know that, don't you?_

He shook his head to get rid of those words.

It didn't help.

_Selfish bastard. You wanted her, and it's going to get her killed_.

_But, she knew the danger. Said she didn't care. Said she loved you._

_And look where it got her?_

He slammed on brakes in front of her house, fumbling for his keys as he climbed from the car, hurrying through her front lawn, damp with dew and the drizzle that had fallen all day matching his mood. Almost as if he could hurry away from the thoughts haunting his mind.

Nero, cooped in the house, rushed by him to do his business on the lawn.

When he was done, Skinner would have sworn the dog looked at him and looked around, as if to say, "Well, where is she? What have you done with her?"

All he could do was hold the scarred door open, coaxing Nero inside. Reluctantly, the dog trotted in the house, looking morosely behind him, almost as if he thought she'd come walking down the street.

_Me and you both, boy_.

The house was quiet, and Skinner took a moment to stand there and listen, to soak it all in. This was her home. Her photos on the wall. Her perfume lightly hanging in the air. Her jacket tossed over the back of the couch, almost as if she'd left it there only a moment before.

For a brief moment, he almost thought she'd come bustling down the hall, asking how his day went, her wet hair twisted up into that impossible knotted towel women always managed.

But, that was just wishful thinking.

He'd only meant to get the dog and go back to his apartment. His empty apartment. Where he'd have to face his guilt and his demons. Just he and Nero.

Nero whined from the hallway, watching him, sensing something was wrong, but Skinner ignored him. Just looking at the damned animal reminded him of her.

Slowly, he walked through the house, glancing at her photos of family and scenery and of times gone by, drinking it in, craving to be close to her although she was snatched from him.

He needed her. And look where it got her.

The bedroom was the worst, the blankets still jumbled from the night before, the T-shirt she'd slept in tossed carelessly onto the foot of the bed, along with her waitress 'uniform' from the night before.

Hesitantly, he reached out and touched the worn cotton, soft against his fingertips.

He'd always teased her for wearing old T-shirts to bed, telling her he should give her some money to buy some decent lingerie.

All she would do was give him that confident smile and claim that her old T-shirts didn't seem to be hurting his libido one bit.

"_Why did you join the FBI?" she snuggled deeper against his chest, his body warm on her bare back. Absently, she linked her fingers with his, his arm heavy across her side._

"_Don't ask me to remember something from so long ago." _

"_Oh, pul-eeze! You're not that old!" She swatted his arm playfully, and he laughed._

"_I guess it just seemed like the thing to do. Almost as if I got to continue soldiering without actually being a soldier."_

"_I thought you hated being a soldier?"_

"_Wrong analogy, I guess. But, for the most part at the Bureau, you know who the bad guys are, and you go after them. It's that plain and simple." He paused, absently twirling a strand of her hair around on his finger. "Or at least, it used to be."_

_She shifted, rolling onto her back where she could see his face, the blankets over her chest. "You know, I've been thinking about that."_

_He rolled his eyes. "Great."_

"_Oh, just shut up and listen to me," she sassed. "I think the world has always had the sort of people in it that you've been . . . facing lately. But, most of the time, we choose to ignore it. Because the good always outweighs the bad."_

"_OK, Pollyanna," he grinned._

_She swatted him again. "I'm serious here! If we go around worrying about the evil folks and what they may or may not do next, they win. Even if they never lift a finger to harm anyone again." She poked him in the chest with her finger. "That's what you do. Try to keep them from harming anyone again. Just think of all the people you've saved, the victims that could have been, but weren't."_

_He traced her cheek with his finger. "What about the ones I didn't catch in time? Or ever?" he asked softly._

_Her green eyes bored into his. "I know you think this deal with Mulder is different. But, it's not. It's been going on for years and years, and all you can do is your best to try and stop it. It's . . . consumed Mulder. You can't let it consume you."_

"_Now you sound like my shrink."_

_She smiled, burrowing deeper in the pillow. "I expect to be paid accordingly."_

"_It seems I've left my wallet in my other pants."_

_Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she laughed. "Fine. You can pay me in other ways."_

It was one of the few free weekends he had, not long after they'd started seeing each other. They didn't get out of bed for much of it.

And, he couldn't help but think she was mistaken. She was worried about Mulder's mission consuming him, but all it did was consume _her_. She was being grinded into nothing into the wheels of this machine, and all he could do was stand here. Helpless. Waiting for a call that may never come.

Her parents would be here tomorrow, according to Pike. He had to face them. To tell him what he thought happened. Tell them it was his fault she was taken.

Could he do it?

He'd have to.

And, at the end of the day, he'd still be alone. Except now, he knew what he was missing, what had been snatched from him.

* * *

Anna woke with a start, trying to figure out what had awakened her.

Probably the fact that she had to pee like a race horse. And sitting cramped up with her feet tied didn't help matters any.

But, she listened carefully, not even breathing, the sides of her mouth raw around the gag in her throat.

It was quiet. No road noises. Nothing.

_Why would they go through all the trouble to kidnap me, then leave me?_

Straining to hear, she suddenly started to hear voices. Getting closer.

Different voices. She'd grown accustomed to the pitch and timbre of her captors' voices. These were different. More . . .refined.

A key in the lock. Anna turned towards the noise.

_Now what?_

The doors creaked open, much cooler air hitting her in the face.

The mountains. They'd taken her to the mountains. It was the only place she knew that would be this cool this time of year.

A tsking noise. "You didn't have to tie her up." Shuffling. The van creaking.

"The bitch _bit_ me!" Ah ha, there was Captor Number 2.

"Screamed, too. Fought like a banshee. Almost didn't get her in the damn van." Captor Number 1.

"Heard about the witnesses. Careless." The new voice had a harsh edge too it.

A lot of protests from her two captors, excuse-making and the like.

So, this was the big cheese, then.

Hands near her face. She flinched away, but he steadied her head, making soothing noises.

Her blindfold and gag fell away, but her mouth was so dry, it felt like a big nasty sock was still in there. Her eyes felt gritty, and she had to blink several times.

A water bottle was held to her lips, and she drank greedily as drops dribbled down her chin.

"There. That's better now, isn't it?"

Anna focused on the face in front of her. He was probably her age, but had hard lines around his eyes. Rough living. He also reeked of cigarette smoke. His eyes searched hers, almost as if he was looking for . . .

_Fear. _

_He wants you to be scared._

One thing she did know. This was not the man she and Nero chased out of Walter's apartment, the man they were now calling Spender. For some reason, she figured he did not do his own dirty work, anyway.

Anna hoped she could pull it off. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of fear, making sure her gaze didn't even flinch as she stared at him, hoping he couldn't hear the pounding of her heart.

"What do you want? Where have you taken me?" Her voice was raspy from disuse.

He seemed amused at her questions. "All in good time, my dear."

"I'm not your 'dear'."

He found this amusing and laughed accordingly, reaching for a knife, flicking it open.

Anna was hard-pressed not to keep the fear off her face at the blade winking at her eye level.

She was right. This creep did get his jollies by scaring other people.

His voice had lost the kind edge to it, too. "I'm going to untie you only because I'm not carrying you all the way to the house. Now, you'll behave. Won't you? Or I'll let Max here get retaliation for his bloody hand."

Anna looked from the knife to Captor Number 2 – now with a name – and back. Her options flashed before her eyes, but none of them ended well.

Plus, she couldn't feel her feet anyway. And, she didn't know where she was.

Reluctantly, she nodded her head.

"That's what I figured."

Once her bonds were removed, she had to rub her wrists and her ankles, the tingling in her feet and hands almost painful as the blood flow returned to her extremities. She still refused all help to rise to her feet, not wanting his help for anything.

"Fiesty, aren't you?" He was clearly amused.

She ignored him, taking in her surroundings. It _was_ the mountains. They were surrounded on four sides by the forest, thick and dense. It was dusk, so it even looked foreboding.

The house was a two-story log cabin, but not the type the Waltons lived in. This one screamed wealth from the bottom of its six car garage to the tip of its turreted roof.

With Max on one side and Captor No. 1 on the other, she limped into the house. The smell of food hit her, and her stomach grumbled, probably loud enough for everyone to hear.

"Bring her a plate after you take her upstairs," the man who freed her said.

She wanted to tell him where to stuff his plate, but she had to eat. Keep up her strength. Maybe she could even find a way out of here.

Maybe.

They walked down a winding hallway, and she realized what she called a 'cabin' was actually larger than most houses she'd seen. There were no photos on the walls, and she saw no one else, although she heard voices behind one closed door.

They climbed up a small stairway in the back. It was cool up here, and she shivered. They escorted her to the end of a short hall and unlocked a door.

It was a library, complete with beautiful oak furniture and dark paneling.

And, it was apparently to be her prison.

After shoving her inside, they started to slam the door shut.

"Wait!" she cried out.

Surprisingly, Max stopped. "What?"

Anna cleared her throat. "Why . . . am I here? What am I to you?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Leverage." He shut the door behind him, and she heard the lock click in place.

Great. Leverage.

But, that did mean she was right about one thing.

This _was_ about Walter.

The thought made her eyes well, and she impatiently wiped her tears away. By now, he had to know. Her camera. Her cell phone. He was probably searching for her.

But, she knew these people. Not as well as he did, but she knew. Walter would find her when they got damn good and ready for him to find her.

Unless she found a way out first.

A window.

She ran to it, but it was nailed shut. From the outside.

Peering out into the darkness, she thought about breaking the glass with one of the books and clambering out onto the roof.

But, a shadow moved in the yard. A man. With a gun. Watching her.

Well, these people thought of everything, didn't they?

She turned her back against the dark night, rubbing her arms fitfully, trying to talk herself out of a monstrous crying jag.

A door. Across the room.

Anna ran to it, flinging it open.

A bathroom, small with only a toilet and a vanity.

Hell, facilities were facilities.

After emptying her bladder and splashing water on her face, she looked up, realizing the mirror had been removed.

Boy, they _really_ thought of everything! She couldn't even bust the glass and use it as a weapon.

* * *

It felt good to hit something, even if it was just a punching bag hanging in his spare bedroom.

In his mind, he could pretend it was Spender. And Krychek. Hell, even Kersh!

It kept him from thinking about his empty apartment. And her dog who searched for her in every room. And her parents flying in on the red-eye.

And the fact that _they_ had her. Were doing God-knows-what to her.

All because of him.

And he could do nothing about it.

The sweat dripped off his chin as he took out his frustrations, slamming his fists into the bag over and over again so hard, he thought it might jar loose from its anchor in the ceiling.

_She's gone._

_They have her._

_You can do nothing._

Quickly, his swings went from well-calculated ones to wild punches. His exhausted muscles cried out for him to rest, but he just continued, glad for the pain, for the distraction, to feel something – _anything_! – aside from his loss.

_I was supposed to protect her. _

_Keep her safe. _

_Shield her._

_I couldn't do it for Sharon. Why should she be any different?_

At some point – he couldn't tell when – the tears mingled with the drops of perspiration streaming down his face.

He had never before in his life felt . . . so . . . _helpless_!

With one last, wild swing, he staggered away from the bag until his back hit the wall near the doorway.

Tears were one of the few luxuries he never allowed himself to feel.

Until now. Until the frustration against a world he couldn't protect her from got the best of him.

* * *

Hey, everybody deserves a pity party now and then, right?


	34. Chapter 34

He couldn't stay away from the office for long. Although protocol said an agent was not allowed to participate in investigations when a friend or family member was kidnapped, he could give a damn about protocol at this point.

No one protested when he walked into the room, still abuzz with activity. The FBI took all abductions seriously, but ones that involved the agents themselves were taken as a personal affront to the whole organization.

The obligatory map hung from the far wall, push pins – color coded – marking possible sightings, places that needed to be investigated and ones that had already been checked out.

In Skinner's mind, there were not enough of them to make any difference.

Paper was scattered all about – leads that hadn't checked out and notes, mixed with carryout boxes from a number of different restaurants.

Skinner had participated in many of these hunts before. It was always a 50/50 shot if it would turn out that the missing person would be found.

He did know one thing. The more time that went by, the less chance they had.

But, he'd had his pity party. It was time to get to work.

Scully, her cell phone in one hand and a file in her other, did a double take when she spotted him. Quickly wrapping up her conversation, she walked towards him, concern on her face.

"Sir, should you . . ."

"I can quote Bureau policy, Agent Scully. I know I'm not supposed to be here. But you, or anyone else in this room for that matter, will keep me from it."

His eyes dared her to argue.

When he saw she wasn't going to, he continued. "Anything developed?"

"Well . . . I found who the van belonged to." She thumped through a file, pulling out a copy of a police report. "A M. Hernandez. Stolen out of his front yard two nights ago just south of town. All they left was the tag."

He took the report from her, scanning it briefly. He knew it would be a dead end, but he appreciated her efforts.

Scully continued. "County patrols in Timbreville, just west of I-81, responded to a fire at an abandoned farm just off the main road. It was a white van matching the descriptions we have."

He was almost afraid to ask. "What did . . . they find?"

She heard the quiver in his voice and knew how hard this was on him. "Only a torched white van. With no tag. But," she rifled through some more paperwork, "a deputy did find this laying on the side of the road not two miles away." She showed him a picture of the tag. "We ran it, and it was stolen, too, not three miles from where the van was stolen. The owner didn't even realize it was missing."

Skinner tapped the photo on his fingers, thinking. "Why're they taking her so far away? Why not keep her around here if . . . if it's to get to me?"

Scully looked apologetic. "That's what we're trying to find out."

Skinner absently rifled through the police report, stopping at a statement from a local farmer. It kept his mind occupied.

This was long-term. Had to be. Why else would they bother to take her out of DC if they didn't want something immediately?

Skinner thought he was going to be sick.

Scully saw what he was attempting to read. "The local PD heard about our kidnapping case and treated this van as the one in the APB. Although this is a fairly rural area, there was a farmer in a field nearby that said he saw a white van cruise down the road and a red van with a carpet cleaner emblem on it cruise back up not five minutes later. He said it was strange because no one ever travels that road. He called in the fire, too."

Skinner's mind was churning. "Which way was it heading?"

"The witness said it turned west."

His cell phone rang, and absently, he dug for it in his coat pocket, trying to process this information, his mind a whirl of questions with no answers.

"Skinner."

"Ah, Mr. Skinner. Late night, I see."

At the look on his face, Scully knew who it was. She immediately made a call to trace the number, all the time listening to Skinner's side of the conversation.

In the presence of several agents, Skinner knew he should keep his cool. But, after the long day and night he'd had, it was hard to remember to not lose his head. "What have you done with her?" His voice was absent of all emotion.

A tsking noise. "Now, now, Mr. Skinner, don't jump to hasty conclusions."

Skinner could just see him taking a drag on those infernal cigarettes, and it made him even angrier. "What sort of conclusions am I supposed to arrive at?" he hissed.

"D.C. is a dangerous place. Such things happen everyday. And, from what I hear, the percentage of those found alive is mighty low, even for the FBI."

Skinner's fingers curled around the phone, the plastic digging into his flesh. But, he knew he had to stay calm. Keep the man talking.

Although, he seriously doubted he'd be dumb enough to use a traceable line.

"Where are you?"

"Oh, about ten miles from you, I'm guessing. Sitting in my room, watching this horrid business on the news." Shuffling. "From the looks of things, you're taking this pretty personally."

Skinner took a deep breath and held it, feeling his resolve fade away as his anger returned to new heights. By now, the other agents in the room knew what was going on, and all eyes were on him. "Wouldn't you?"

A chuckle. "I never take business personally, Mr. Skinner."

Skinner was tired of this. "What do you want?"

"Just to offer my condolences."

"Condolences my ass!"

"I'm sure whoever is responsible for this will be in touch with you at a later date to confirm any requests they may have of you." The implied meaning hung in the air.

"Let her go. She has nothing to do with this."

Another dry chuckle. "Mr. Skinner, you really overestimate me. After some . . . surgery, I've been confined to my bed for several weeks."

"I don't care what you say, I know you're behind it. It has your fingerprints all over it."

"Believe what you like, Mr. Skinner. But, know this. I'm sure if an agreement isn't reached, it will not end well for you. Or her."

Skinner was so angry, he didn't even register the soft click that meant the call had been ended. It was not a wise choice, he knew, but he threw the phone across the room, and it smashed into pieces against the wall.

"Did you get it?"

Scully motioned as she continued speaking into her own phone. "Yeah . . . uh huh . . . uh huh . . ." Her shoulders slumped. "Fine. That's alright."

She ended her call, looking her assistant director in the eyes. "It was scrambled. No trace," she said softly.

He took a deep breath and started to pace. "He said he was 10 miles from me. I need a map of the area, so we can check out all the buildings . . ."

Scully took a deep breath. "Sir, you won't find him. You know that."

He stopped pacing, aware of every eye on him. "What do you suggest, then, Agent Scully?" His question was almost a sneer.

Scully ignored it. "Our priority is Anna. She's not with him. Even if we find him, he won't tell us where she is. I suggest we keep looking for this red van . . ."

"Oh, that's somewhere west of here. That's the entire fucking country, Agent Scully!"

She stared him down for a moment. "It's what you would do if you stopped long enough to think about it."

Dammit, he knew she was right! And, he _hated_ it when she was right!

Scully didn't wait for him to apologize, instead taking his arm and tugging gently. "Let's go to your office. I have a few things to discuss with you."

For some reason, he allowed a woman who was half his size to lead him out of the room like an errant child, away from prying eyes, and down the hall to his office.

He couldn't sit, instead resuming his pacing.

More to stay out of his way than anything else, she moved to stand behind his desk, flipping on the lamp. "I didn't want to tell you in front of everyone else, but Mulder is working on something."

"Mulder? What in the hell can _he_ do?"

Scully rolled her eyes, but Skinner didn't see. "Anna's camera. The pictures she took."

He stopped pacing. "What about them?"

"The film was damaged when the back of the camera was broken, but the last few photos appear to be full shots of the van and the 'crew' working on the grounds."

He stared at her, waiting on her to continue.

"Langley is helping him try to piece some of the photos together, to see if there is some clue to where she is."

Skinner rubbed a hand over his face, wishing he'd remembered to shave. "We know the van and the tag are out."

"But, maybe not the people," she said earnestly. "If we can get a clear shot of their faces, maybe we can run them through the database."

It was a long shot. He knew it. But, he was grasping at straws here.

Something surfaced in his mind. "Wasn't . . .there some sort of ID they had to give the front office before they entered the gates?"

Scully looked disgusted. "There was. Each of the men in the photos given to the front desk have been deceased for at least a year. It isn't them. Security didn't even look close enough at them to make sure it _was_ them."

They were good at this. Damn good at this.

"What did Mulder . . . think about this? All this?" he asked hesitantly.

"He thinks like you do. That Spender is behind this."

Just the mention of the man's name made his blood pressure shoot through the roof.

Scully wasn't sure if she knew the man standing in front of her so well that she could see the emotion on his face or that he was just too exhausted to try and hide them. She shifted her weight. "Do you want the map of downtown down here?"

"What? Oh . . . yes."

She nodded and made her way to the door. "I'll bring it right down."

"Agent Scully?"

She paused and turned around. "Sir?"

"Thanks."

She gave him a small smile. "We'll find her, Walter. I promise." She closed the door softly behind her, leaving him standing in the middle of his office, praying she was not making any empty promises.

* * *

After he hung up the phone with Skinner, he motioned for his nurse, taking a long drag from his ever-present cigarette, smoke billowing out of his nose lazily.

Skinner wouldn't do anything stupid that would cause her any harm. That much he knew for sure. As long as they had her, he'd have an ally-unwilling as he may be. And with Mulder and Scully running around getting in the way, that was always a positive.

C.G.B. Spender thought far in advance. That's how he had accomplished everything he had in life, things that most certainly couldn't be put on any resume, but accomplishments all the same. He'd sit on it for awhile. Make sure he got the maximum he could out of this situation.

His nurse came by to give him his medication, and he willingly took it as he plotted.

The longer he lived to see this to its completion, the better.

* * *

Anna awoke with a start, her neck aching from sleeping with her head in her arms at the huge mahogany desk.

She nosed through every nook and cranny in the room, even the desk, but there was nothing. No clue as to where she was or why they had her.

But, it kept her mind occupied with the here and now and not the future, which looked more uncertain as time went by.

It was morning, the sun shining weakly through the one window. Struggling to her feet, Anna limped to it and gazed out.

The mountains were beautiful in the morning light, and if she were not busy searching for the armed guards that surrounded the house, she might have noticed it.

A noise. A key in the lock.

Anna jumped away from the window, moving behind the desk, wanting something between her and whoever was coming in the door.

It was the man from last night who'd untied her, carrying a plate covered with a cloth napkin

"Breakfast!" he said lightly, almost as if she were an invited guest.

Anna watched him warily as he shut the door behind him. She caught a glimpse of a guard sitting outside, and she knew that option of escape was out. If she could somehow overpower this man, there was no way she'd get past Max out there. Not if he still wanted revenge over his bitten fingers.

Anna eyed the plate suspiciously. She'd eaten the night before, only to keep up her strength, and it was a rather good meal. At first, she'd been nervous about the food being drugged, but she seemed to have no after-effects from it.

He saw her eyeing the food and laughed. "Don't worry. The boss says not to touch a hair on your pretty little head. Not until he gets what he wants, at least."

"Who is he? What does he want from me?" Anna blurted out, knowing that she wouldn't get an answer. How stupid of them would that be?

The man laughed his sinister laugh, despite his likable features. "It's not what he wants from you. It's what he wants from . . . others."

Anna knew who he was talking about. Panic threatened to overwhelm her as ideas of what they would want him to do flit through her mind. "Please. Please, just leave him alone."

The man ignored her plea and headed towards the door, pausing just before he walked out. "Don't worry, my dear. I'm sure he'll come for you. If he can find you. Killing seems to be second nature to him, doesn't it? Especially if he can kill a 10-year old boy in cold blood."

How did he know about that?

Then again, how did these people know anything?

As the man shut the door behind himself, Anna flung the tray of food he brought in at the door, the plate smashing into a million pieces as the food slid to the floor in unappealing clumps.

She could hear him laughing all the way down the hall, and that made her even angrier.

He was going to have to kill someone. For her.

If they didn't kill him first.

Just the thought made her blood run cold, and she balled her fists without thinking.

She _had_ to get out of here!

* * *

Skinner took a deep breath before he entered the room at the police station.

Pike had called him when her family arrived, but he'd been in the middle of a briefing from the agents who had scoped out the building in a 10-miles radius of the Hoover Building.

What had they found? Nothing. Not a damn thing.

Skinner didn't know if Spender was pulling his leg or if he was just that well-hidden.

Probably the later.

Helluva bit of information to tell her parents. He could just hear it now. _Mr. and Mrs. Turner, I'm Walter Skinner, the man responsible for your daughter's kidnapping. Nice to meet you._

A hand on his arm. "Sir? Are you sure you want to do this? I can . . ."

Scully. He jumped, almost as if he forgot where he was, then shook his head impatiently, opening the door.

When they said her family was coming, he figured it would just be her parents. But, he quickly counted 6 – no 7 people counting Pike – in the room.

Only an older lady with an intricately carved cane paid them any attention. Anna's grandmother appraised him, and he had to look away underneath her careful scrutiny as he and Agent Scully stood as unobtrusively as they could in the back of the cold little room.

Pike was running through the details, scant as they were, and he had to tune it out at the horrid images it conjured up in his mind. Instead, he studied the faces of her family, faces he recognized from pictures.

Anna's mother. Sobbing quietly. Two other women – had to be Anna's older sisters – were comforting her quietly and listening to Pike at the same time.

_. . .there's a lot of emotion, you know, screaming and ranting and gnashing of teeth . . ._

If anyone had been paying him any attention, they'd have seen a ghost of a smile on his face. It seemed so long ago since they'd had that first lunch together. It surprised him that he even remembered those exact words.

But, that was apparently all he had at this point. Memories.

He shook himself visibly, ignoring Scully's glance in his direction.

Anna's father. Stoic. Sitting across from his wife. Holding her hand. But, listening to every word that Pike said.

And her brother Nathan. He was valedictorian, and Anna was supposed to go home for his graduation in a couple of months. He looked just as stoic as his father. Except for his eyes. They held the anguish of youth – the first time one's innocent life is shattered against the evil.

_It's an illusion, son. Trust me._

Apparently, Pike was finished with his part of the diatribe, and everyone was looking at him and Agent Scully.

Had the police officer just asked them a question?

Skinner's exhausted mind figured he better start paying attention as Scully spoke up on his behalf. Step-by-step, she told them what they had found out. What little there was.

And still, Anna's grandmother watched him, her weathered face showing no emotion as she sat at the head of the table, her hands folded on the head of her cane.

When Scully was finished, Anna's mother sniffed. "I . . . I still don't understand! Why would someone . . . someone take my . . . my _baby_?"

One of Anna's sisters – was it Marie or Grace? – patted her mother on the back and handed her another tissue.

Pike looked at Skinner directly this time. Pike knew the theory, but he'd blissfully kept it out of the explanation to the family.

Skinner knew it was his place to tell them.

After all, this was his fault, wasn't it?

Skinner took a deep breath, but Scully beat him to it.

"We feel this is retaliation, or perhaps an attempt to use A – Mrs. Greensburg as a bargaining tool . . ." she trailed off for a moment, searching for the right words. "As a bargaining tool to get to people she'd . . . befriended."

Skinner knew he was letting Scully do his dirty work, but ever since they'd walked into the police station, he'd felt as if he were walking in a fog.

Staying up half the night feeling sorry for himself would do that.

"Befriended?" One of the sisters – this was Grace – spoke up. She was very much pregnant, and he remembered Anna mentioning something about twins. She looked at Scully with green eyes that looked so much like Anna's that he sucked in a breath.

Scully cleared her throat. "She has made . . . friends with agents in the Bureau. Agents are . . . working on cases that made a few enemies over the years."

"Did you have any idea? This might happen?" the other sister Marie voiced. Her eyes were brown. Not like Anna's. Thank God.

Pike spoke up this time. "There had been another instance. At Mrs. Greensburg's home." He went on to explain the intruder in the middle of the night and the knife in the front door.

Mrs. Turner started sobbing again as her remaining daughters tended her, her son and husband watching.

"Where _was_ she? Why didn't he get her that night?" Grace demanded. "Why didn't she _tell_ us?"

Pike looked a bit uncomfortable. "Mrs. Greensburg was not . . . at home at the time. She was . . .was . . ."

Skinner knew he had to speak up at some point. It was now or never. "She was with me."

Pike looked relieved that he didn't have to try to explain it.

Everyone looked at Skinner.

The older woman tapped her cane impatiently. "It's about time you spoke up, Assistant Director Skinner. I didn't take you for a coward, you know."

Skinner met her unwavering gaze with his own.

Everyone looked back and forth between the two, his words sinking in.

Mrs. Turner looked at Grace. "Why didn't you _tell_ me he was with the FBI?"

"_Mom_! I . . . I didn't know, either." She looked at Marie, and Marie shrugged.

"She didn't want you know, Teresa. You worry too much," Grandmother spoke up.

"Rightfully so, apparently," Mrs. Turner said bitterly, giving him a hard glare as she dabbed her eyes.

Since the cat was out of the bag, Scully felt the need to expound on the subject. "No one has been in contact with Assistant Director Skinner officially," she didn't mention the phone call from Spender. Too hard to explain that.

Everyone stared at them from everything to calm complacence from Anna's grandmother to outright hatred from Nathan.

"My baby was taken . . . because of you?" Mrs. Turner was slowly but surely understanding.

Skinner kept his head up, his eyes flat. "That's what we are assuming at this point."

He didn't even see it coming.

Nathan launched himself from his chair, practically coming across the table, and shoved him against the wall, his hands clenched at the collar of his coat.

"You sorry son of a _bitch_! You're going to get her _killed_!" His young face was contorted with fury, wanting someone to blame. "She's going to _die_ because of you!"

Scully gasped, and everyone stood.

Where Anna was slight, Nathan had apparently inherited his father's build and was eye-level with him. Nathan might have been young, but Skinner was experienced. While his first reaction was to fight back against this threat, he had so much pent up anger, he was afraid he might seriously harm the boy. So all he did was return the boy's glare.

Bur, if Nathan decided to throw a punch, he sure as hell would wish he hadn't, no matter if his family was watching or not.

"Son. Let him go." It was the first time they'd heard Mr. Turner speak.

Nathan shook his collar once, tears starting to fall. "It's his fault, Dad."

"It's the fault of the men who took her, Nathan. Listen to your father. Let him go." His grandmother's voice held authority, accustomed to getting her way.

With one last shove, Nathan let him go.

Skinner straightened his shirt absently as Nathan moved back, still glaring at him with barely concealed hate.

_Right back at ya, buddy. I don't blame you one bit._

Skinner looked away from her brother, addressing the family, looking each of them in the eyes one-by-one as he spoke. "Yes, we are fairly certain this is an attempt to get to me and my agents through her. And yes, we are exhausting every avenue we can to find her."

"What if you can't?" It was the first time Skinner heard the quaver in her grandmother's voice.

He met her eyes. "Then, I'll have to live with it for the rest of my life."

No one challenged him on that point. "Excuse me. We have to get back to the Bureau. Lieutenant Pike has my number if any of you need to contact me."

Brushing by Scully, not stopping to look if she was behind him, he left the room. Just that little bit of soul-bearing had worn away his fragile protective shell he'd tried to build around his heart.

He was right. He'd have to live with it for the rest of his life.

But, not before he found who was responsible and ripped him to shreds.

* * *

Next up . . . The Lone Gunmen try to save the day!


	35. Chapter 35

It was dark. That much he knew, the sun no longer shining through the blinds in his office. He'd long shed his coat and tie, and his shirt was unbuttoned at the neck as he worked alongside his agents. No one complained. No one said anything.

But, now, at the end of the day, he still had exactly what he started out with. Nothing. No phone calls. No clues.

Not a damn thing.

Deep in his heart, Skinner was beginning to wonder. Maybe taking her wasn't a method of using him in some fashion. Maybe taking her was his punishment. For not choosing their side. For not saying or doing what they wanted him to, all of them moving towards an ending that didn't bode well for anybody.

Or maybe it didn't really have anything at all to do with him. Just a random act of violence in a city full of it.

Somehow, he doubted that.

His eyes strayed to the photo on his desk. He'd avoided it all day, almost put it away to keep from looking at it.

Now, he couldn't help himself.

Gingerly, he reached for it, holding it carefully in his hand.

Turning his chair towards the window and the darkened city below, he stared at it, wanting to trace the outline of her face almost as if he could feel the smoothness of it. But, it was only paper behind glass. Cold, unfeeling glass.

He heard his door open, but didn't bother looking up. Whoever it was paused before entering, then soft footfalls padded across the floor until she was standing by his chair.

Skinner knew Scully didn't have any news. There was no news.

He took a deep breath, holding it for a moment before he spoke.

"She wanted to see the ocean. Growing up in the Midwest, she'd never seen it. So, a few weeks ago, we went for the weekend." He paused. "Although I hate the beach."

He heard Scully's soft chuckle. "The things we do for those we care about, huh?"

He managed a smile, his eyes never leaving the photograph. "I almost had to drag her out of the water at dusk. Even the threat of becoming shark food didn't deter her. She said the waves made her feel alive, like she was a part of something bigger in the world."

He took a deep breath, mentally cursing the tears that threatened. "She wanted to eat outside and watch the moon rise over the water. We found this place – you know the kind – has all those paper lanterns and waiters wearing hula skirts and all that craziness. For a price, they had a photographer who'd snap your picture." Swallowing hard, he managed to continue. "Anna said she always liked photos that weren't posed and bought it. Somehow, I wound up with it."

Scully carefully took it out of his hands and studied it. Although the background was blurry, she could tell it was a busy place. Anna, her hair still damp from the ocean, skin brown from the sun, had her fingers linked with his on the table, laughing at something that had been said. Scully's boss, the man she had come to realize was a stalwart force against the evil that threatened, was looking at Anna with an expression she'd never seen on his face before. Pure happiness. It was a moment in time that people wish they could go back to. He was lucky to have it on film.

"You know, I can honestly say I've never seen you smile like that before."

He threw his glasses on his desk and wearily rubbed his eyes, more to hide the unshed tears than anything. He didn't tell his agent – his friend – the rest of the story. How he and Anna had made love with the balcony doors open to the sound of waves lapping against the shore.

It was then he decided the beach probably wasn't so bad after all.

"I . . . part of me always knew . . . this could happen. But, selfishly, I . . . let myself get caught up in the moment. In her. If I truly . . . care for her, then I should have walked right out of that restaurant and never looked back."

"And be miserable for the rest of your life," a voice spoke with authority.

They both looked towards the door.

It was Anna's grandmother. And Mulder.

Sheepishly, Mulder shrugged. "Mrs. Randolph threatened me with a caning if I didn't take her up here."

She brandished her cane. "Don't think I won't, sonny. And, if I was 50 years younger, I'd threaten you with a beating you'd be glad to get, too."

Mulder looked at Scully, grinning. "I like her. Can I keep her?"

Scully rolled her eyes.

Skinner failed to find any of it amusing. "Mrs. Randolph . . ."

"Please. Anita."

"Fine. Anita. What are you doing out here? Where's . . .the rest of them?"

Anita settled in a chair across from his desk with an oomph. "Old bones aren't as spry as they used to be. They're back at the hotel. Pacing. Crying. Weeping. In other words, driving me insane. I told them I went to get ice."

"Long trip," Mulder commented.

"But, what I really wanted was to see how you were holding up, Walter Skinner."

Skinner looked at her incredulously. "It seems I should be asking you that question, Mrs. – Anita. She's your granddaughter."

"But, you're her lover. Best damn sex she's ever had, by the way."

Scully looked embarrassed, but Mulder had to laugh aloud. "I told you I liked her!"

Skinner was beyond embarrassment at this point. "Mrs. Randolph . . . our relationship is going to get her killed."

"_Those people_ could kill her. Has nothing to do with you."

Skinner slammed his fist on his desk, making Scully and Mulder jump. But, not Mrs. Randolph. "It has _everything_ to do with me!"

Anita cocked her head, looking like a wise old owl. "Mr. Skinner, her first husband was an engineer. A 9-5 job. A _safe_ job. Didn't own a gun. Didn't like the looks of them. Went to church every Sunday and volunteered at the animal shelter the third Saturday of each month. A calm man. A peaceful man. And look where it got her. Bleeding on the side of the road. Lost both her children and her nice, peaceful, calm husband."

Skinner stared at her, his pain etched clearly on his face so much that Scully and Mulder felt as if they were intruding on a private scene.

Anita leaned in closer to him. "Safety is relative, my dear. And don't think that wherever my granddaughter is tonight that she wouldn't love you all over again, even knowing what could happen to her." She motioned towards the photograph he still clutched in his hand. "I've never seen her happier. You gave her her life back. Never forget that, Mr. Skinner."

She didn't wait for an answer. With a groan, she rose to her feet, leaning heavily on her cane. "OK, Fox, take me home."

Mulder reached for her arm, steadying her. "Do you think we should stop for ice?"

Anita snorted. "I guess we better or those drama queens that I dare call a family will lock me in my room for the duration."

Scully started to follow, but stopped, turning around to face her boss. "Are you going to be OK?"

"Honestly? No."

Scully opened her mouth to comment, thought better of it and followed her partner out the door, leaving Skinner to his photograph and his memories.

And his fear.

* * *

He watched the house through his night vision goggles. It sure was fortified enough, that's for damn sure. He counted six armed guards, probably more on the other side of the house.

You'd think they had the damned president in there instead of some g-man's woman.

He'd followed them from the moment they had her. Saw her fight against her captures, part of him cheering her on, wanting her to get away. When she didn't, he followed them at a safe distance to this place.

He was pretty sure which room she was in. On the second floor. He'd see her face in the window from time to time, eyeballing the guards on the ground, just as he was doing.

He supposed the 'nice' thing to do would be to call Skinner and tell him where they had her. Could earn him a few points, another bargaining chip. He could use all the help he could get.

He stamped his feet to keep the circulation going, knowing that they guards couldn't hear him from the woods. Woods that surrounded the property, went on for miles and miles, full of hilly terrain and other unseen dangers.

Lucky for him he was accustomed to 'unseen' dangers.

And, unlucky for Anna, he wasn't generally a nice person to succumb to such silly things.

He settled in, huddled in his down jacket, waiting.

* * *

Skinner had never seen her in that color before. Pale green. Almost white.

If she could open her eyes, he knew it would complement them, make them seem even greener than they are.

Were.

His mind couldn't quite grasp the use of past tense when referring to her.

He could feel all eyes in the quaint little church on his back. He was a stranger in their midst. He did not belong.

And, in the end, he'd killed her just as if he'd pulled the trigger on his own, right into her heart.

He'd seen the autopsy report. Almost couldn't read the damn thing all the way through. Cause of death was listed as 'severe loss of blood due to GSW to chest.'

Although, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out. But, it was standard procedure on finding a 'body.'

That's all she was to them. A 'body.' A file to close. A case that was solved.

But, until every one of the bastards who did this to her were dead, it would never be over for him. Even then, it wouldn't bring her back.

But the siren call of revenge couldn't be ignored.

She was still warm when they found her. Lying in her own blood. Gratefully, her green eyes were shut. He never could have bore to see them open, lifeless.

No one stopped him as he made his way to her body. He probably would have ripped their heads off if they had.

It took Scully to convince him to let her go, her eyes sad as he sat on the floor cradling her body against his, almost as if he could will his own soul into it.

It was the only time he'd allowed himself the luxury of mourning. Afterwards, he'd filled out the reports. Headed the meetings. Given out commendations. But, it was almost as if he wasn't even in his own body.

Something inside him had died. He was numb.

And damn grateful for it, too. Especially now as he stood in this Nebraska church staring down at the woman he had loved, now dead for the pure fact that she loved him, too.

He knew he should feel something standing here by her casket. But, it seemed that the minute that bullet tore through her heart – a shot he heard, a shot he could have prevented if he'd arrived in time - killing her instantly, something inside of him withered and died. His ability to feel emotion. Anything other than hatred brought him to his knees. So, in the days leading up to her funeral, he focused on the hatred. Fed it. Told it that it would get its chance.

"How _dare_ you!"

Woodenly, he turned. It was her mother, face tear-streaked, ugly in its grief, her remaining children trying to coax her back.

There was movement behind him. Mulder and Scully. They'd insisted on coming with him, and he didn't have the heart to argue. Honestly, he was glad for the company. It kept him from doing something he would regret.

Skinner motioned with his hand, and they didn't move any closer. He would handle this himself.

But, Mrs. Turner would not be subdued. With a shaky finger, she pointed to her dead daughter, her voice just above a hateful whisper. "It's because of _you_ there. That she'll be buried in the cold, dark ground! I hope you can live with yourself." She practically spat the words at him like an angry cat.

There were murmurs from the others in attendance as, overcome with sobs, she allowed herself to be led back to her seat by her remaining daughters, who gave him nothing but indifferent looks.

Skinner didn't think Anna's sisters blamed him any less. They just had other worries on their minds. Maybe they understood something he was trying so hard to grasp – that hate wouldn't bring her back. Hate towards him, towards those that did this horrible thing, even towards God.

He knew about hate. He lived and breathed it. It was the only thing that kept him sane.

Before he realized it, they were in the cemetery next to the church, fields stretched as far as he could see. It was dry, barren, withered. Like his soul.

They stood to the side. The three FBI agents in their suits and long black coats, obviously out of place in this small town where everyone seemed to know everyone else.

The casket was now closed, but the sight of her lying in it, just like the moment he focused on her lifeless, blood soaked form lying crumpled in a heap on the floor, was burned in his memory.

The only one who spoke to them was her grandmother. Looking every one of her 80 plus years, the woman hugged his neck before leaving the cemetery, murmuring something about not blaming himself. Anna wouldn't have wanted it that way.

Well, she didn't want to be lying in that coffin, either.

He waited until even her family had trudged away. The cemetery workers were standing patiently off to the side, their tools at ready to lower the beautiful stained wood into the ground with her remains inside.

The wind blew around him, fluttering his coat against his legs, the spray of yellow roses covering the top waving happily in the breeze. The headstones on either side were her late husband. And her son.

The preacher had droned on and on, saying she was going to be with the family she loved. The pictures in the church were of her life with them.

_Before_ Walter Skinner came along.

He knew that was true. She loved her family, missed them terribly.

But, she'd loved him, too. And everyone ignored that fact. It was convenient, he supposed. She had left them to live her own life, a life that eventually killed her.

There was so much left unsaid. How he loved her, how he missed her. Her laugh, the way she touched his arm when she spoke to him, the way she made him feel that there was some good left in this world.

Not anymore. All the good he had left in his life, in his heart, was dead.

For the first time since he clutched her limp form against his chest, he felt tears sting his eyes. Tears he desperately needed to shed. For a moment, he wanted to drop to his knees and wail against the world and what it had done to her. To him.

What he would give to be in her place! She never deserved it. It should be _him_. They did it to get to him.

Well, they did a damn good job of it.

Hesitantly, he reached out and placed his hand on the wood grain. It was cold, hard, unfeeling, leaving everything unsaid. There was no need to say it now.

She was dead.

Briefly, he thought of his pistol hidden underneath his coat. He could join her. Pull the trigger, finally freeing himself from the pain, the loss, the blame.

But, no. Not now. Maybe later. Much, much later when the questions he had, the clues they had uncovered had been solved. When he felt her death was finally avenged. Suicide was a coward's way out, but maybe that's what he was. A coward. He'd let her die for him, for what he believed, for what he was trying to uncover.

Unsteadily, he turned and walked away, his eyes dry.

* * *

"Sir! Wake up!"

Someone was shaking his arm none too gently.

"Oh, c'mon, Mulder. The man's had a long night." Just who was that?

"I'm sure he's burned the midnight oil more than once," Mulder retorted

"But . . . she's, she's _his_! He needs to know!" A different voice, but familiar.

His half-asleep brain started to function.

Anna.

She wasn't dead. Yet.

Skinner he sat up with a start, automatically reaching for his glasses on the end table, mainly to make sense of the fuzzy faces that were standing right behind Mulder.

Langley, Frohike and Byers. He should have known.

"I think we know where she is!"

Skinner struggled into a sitting position, his first reaction being disbelief. He glanced towards the window of his office, past his desk uncharacteristically cluttered with paper. It was still dark.

In his mind, he chided himself for sleeping, for finally succumbing to over 48 hours of no rest. Sure, he had to sleep sometime, but not when she was still out there. Frightened and alone. If she wasn't dead already. Finally, it registered what Mulder said. "_What_? You're kidding?"

"We wouldn't kid about something like that," Byers said solemnly.

Skinner stared at the man momentarily, but Mulder, looking fairly pleased with himself, got right down to work.

"Remember her camera? From the cemetery?"

Skinner nodded, ignoring the lump in his throat that formed at the thought of her camera crushed to pieces, left forlornly on the sidewalk.

Boy, he really needed to get a grip.

"Well, the film had been exposed, but Langley managed to save a few prints. Mainly, the last few. Luckily, the film had rewound after she took them, or we wouldn't have been able to get a thing."

Langley picked up where Mulder left off, pulling a few sheets of paper out of a folder. "All I can tell you is she knew who these guys were, what they were going to do. Because the last few photographs are close-ups. Of the white van and the men who were 'working' around it."

Skinner reached out for the photos, studying them, the emotional part of his mind trying to block out just exactly what she was thinking when she took them, the professional part of his brain taking over. "But, we already know the van was stolen. And the tag."

"Ah, but we weren't sure who the men were that took her," Frohike said. "See this fine example of prison bait?" He pointed to a man in the last photograph, his face almost fully exposed to the camera. "Well, once we blew it up and cleared it up, we came up with this." Frohike pulled out another photo, a head shot.

"Jake Mancuso," Byers said dryly. "Petty crimes, mostly, but this seems as if it's not his first foray into kidnapping. He was wanted in June of last year for attempted kidnapping of the granddaughter of the head of the CIA. Nothing stuck, and he was set free." Byers looked distasteful at the idea.

Skinner studied him sharply, his heart pounding, praying there was more to this story. "So?"

"So, we dug a little deeper. Come to find out, our Mr. Mancuso has done a little work for one of the men who was burned to a crispy critter at that abandoned base a few months ago."

Skinner's mouth went dry. "Who's he working for now?"

"Nothing official, but it seems he's been linked to 'Cascade Cleaners.' Who uses red vans with yellow writing on the side." Mulder showed him another photo, probably taken from a website for the company, the bright red van mocking him.

What did Scully say? They had traded vans. The white one for a red and yellow one from a cleaning company.

Skinner's eyes met Mulder's, his mind churning with possibilities.

Mulder could see the other man grappling with questions, so he continued as fast as he could. "Byers dug a little deeper _again_. It seems Mr. Mancuso's old boss owned a house. In West Virginia in the Appalachians."

"But, it's not your garden-variety quaint little home in the mountains," Byers said, tossing another photo Skinner's way. It was an aerial shot. A rather large cabin stuck right in the middle of a forest. "It's in the general direction the van was heading in, probably 50 miles further west."

Skinner almost couldn't breathe. This was it. "Call the state PD . . ."

"We already have. And Pike. He's on his way down here," Mulder said. "All we're doing is waiting on your go ahead."

* * *

I almost ended the chapter at the end of the dream where she was dead, but that was a little too mean - even for me!


	36. Chapter 36

One-by-one, he picked off the two of the guards who'd crossed his path, finally making his move close to dawn. He was quiet, efficient and quick. It didn't seem the guards checked in with anyone frequently, and that would be their downfall.

It gave him a thrill to take Spender's pawn right from underneath his nose.

He knew this house. It had been used before. He'd even been in it a time or two, so he used his memories to maneuver through it. He did not encounter any other resistance until after he stealthily climbed the stairs, putting a bullet in the brain of the man outside the door, the silencer doing its job magnificently. He was the man who'd snatched her from the cemetery.

Briefly, he wondered if he should have left the man for Skinner. The man might not enjoy killing, but this was one guy who he'd love to get his hands on.

A cry from outside. The two dead guards had been found. The cavalry would be here soon.

The door wasn't even locked.

* * *

Anna wasn't asleep. After a day of being stuck in this godforsaken room with no word, nothing but her own fears for company, she couldn't even begin to try. She might miss her chance to escape.

Towards dawn, she heard a slight commotion outside the door. A grunt, then what sounded suspiciously like a body hitting the floor.

Heart thudding in her throat, she stood, wishing for the umpteenth time that she had something to use as a weapon, wondering who was coming to her rescue. Or to kill her.

She hoped for option number one.

When the door opened, it was a face she didn't recognize, his eyes glittering with adrenaline and probably a little madness. Those crazy eyes settled on her.

She managed to look frightened and curious all at the same time, especially when she caught sight of the obviously dead guard right behind him, sprawled on the floor. At this point, she'd take all the help she could get.

He slammed the door. "Help me push the desk up against it."

Anna hesitated only a moment before she complied, huffing and puffing as the heavy object slid across the floor. "Seems a little dumb, don't you think? Locking yourself in?"

"We won't be in for long," he said, holstering his weapon, studying the books on the shelf on the far wall.

"But . . . there's not another way out."

"Who says?"

Anna could hear the yells, the clambering up the stairs, the exclamations. "Who _are_ you?"

"Let's just say I'm your temporary guardian angel." He chuckled to himself as if there was an inside joke there somewhere.

Pounding on the door. Anna whipped her head around, then turned back towards this mystery man. "No offense, but you better do something. _Now_!"

For the first time, she noticed his left arm was a prosthetic.

Her mind whirled, a nugget of information she gleaned somewhere along the way surfacing in her mind as the yelling grew louder on the stairway outside.

"Krychek. Alex Krychek." She almost choked on the name.

Krychek didn't seem surprised she knew who he was as he perused the titles like the man of the house choosing a novel to read before the fire. "My reputation precedes me."

She couldn't quite get her words to form, her fear at being caught in the crossfire and her anger at this man standing right in front of her colliding in her breast. "Y-you're the one. You tried . . . to kill him."

Krychek still didn't look perturbed. "It's all part of the game, sweetheart. Ah ha!" He reached for a book, pulling it part of the way off the shelf.

A noise, creaking. Groaning. As Anna watched in disbelief, part of the bookshelves swung back revealing a dark passageway only large enough for one person to squeeze through.

Krychek motioned. "After you, my dear."

Her mind whirled as someone started banging on the door, unable to open it against the desk. Fearfully, she turned, watched the desk move just slightly.

He read her mind. "I'm not asking you to trust me. I'm asking you to get in the damn passageway."

Anna took a split second to study him. This man who she'd spent time hating as Walter struggled for his life in the hospital. The man she feared, knew could bring the nanotechnology back to life whenever he pleased. The man who haunted Walter, reduced him to a pawn in game he didn't want to play.

Krychek grinned a little manically. "Hard to decide against a new enemy," he motioned towards the men banging on the door, "and an old one, isn't it?"

When they started shooting at the door, splintering the thick wood, Anna made her decision, launching herself into the musty stairwell.

The noises in the room behind them faded to nothing as Krychek shut the staircase behind them, leaving them in darkness. Anna held her breath, her blood pulsing in her ears, until he flicked on a flashlight. "Go straight ahead. It will fork. Go left." He motioned with the light.

All Anna could do was follow his instructions, ignoring the fear that she was going from the frying pan into the fire as she tried to breathe in the musty air.

* * *

It didn't take long to get the task force together, trained men and women who were with several different agencies. What took so long was finding a way to get up to the house undetected. With one way in and one way out, they decided surprise was the best way.

Skinner hoped they weren't too late. They could move her again, somewhere out of range of even Langley's knowledge of computer hacking.

Or, they could just kill her.

No telling what they'd done to her at this point.

He could hear Scully and Mulder whispering between themselves, only occasionally shooting him a glance. They knew, too, that what they found might not be favorable.

To their credit, neither one made any move to talk about it. And that was fine with him.

Her family knew something was up, that they had a likely lead that could pan out. They were told they would be informed of how it turned out. Her mother demanded to go along, but that was not feasible, especially in this remote area.

Skinner might get Anna killed, but he'd be damned if he got her entire family wiped out.

They hit the ground running, the bumpy, one-lane dirt road ending at the house. The SWAT team went first. Only a few shots were fired, and security was surprisingly light. Skinner wasn't far behind, gun drawn. He sensed Mulder and Scully right behind him.

"Looks like someone got here before we did," Mulder commented, using his foot to roll over a very dead guard, armed with a very mean-looking machine gun.

Skinner didn't even want to think about that. His eyes scanned the area, the SWAT team going through the house. There was another dead guard, the rest of them being detained on the ground, hands behind their backs.

The radio in his pocket crackled with static. "All clear. No one alive in the house."

He looked at Scully, her eyes seeming to ask the same questions.

What happened?

Resolutely, he marched towards the front door, giving his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness.

One of the SWAT members made his way to him. "Assistant Director? There's something I think you should see."

Skinner followed the man through the house, all rooms empty, papers askew, and up a small stair case.

There was another dead man at the top of the stairs.

Grimly, Skinner stepped over him, his mind whirling with a thousand questions.

First and foremost, where was Anna?

It looked like a library, and by the presence of the guard outside, this was probably where they kept her.

And half of the bookcase was blown away, revealing a dark passageway strewn with shot-up books and other flotsam.

"It appears they took her out this way."

"I know what it appears like, Lieutenant!" Skinner growled. But, what about the dead guards? That didn't fit in this picture. They wouldn't kill their own and remove her from the property just because they spotted them coming. "Where does it come out?"

"We're not sure yet, sir, but . . ." The man's radio squawked, and he picked it up.

"We questioned a guard, Abel One. They don't have her. An unknown assailant made his way up the stairs and took her. Those still alive chased them into the woods."

Skinner didn't hang around to hear the rest. She was still alive. Running for her life.

Scully was already barking orders when he stormed out the door. "She's with an unknown male. Consider him armed and dangerous."

They fanned out into the woods as a federal helicopter roared by overhead.

* * *

Anna would have sworn she heard a helicopter, but the woods were too dense to see through the trees. Plus, it could have been her imagination, the pounding of blood in her ears echoing the slapping of her sneakers through the brush.

Krychek was right behind her. She didn't stop to look back as she barreled through the bushes, but she could hear him.

Voices. Angry voices. They, too, reached her ears as she kept running.

A gun shot.

An 'oomph' from behind her.

Like a scared deer, she veered into another direction, risking only a fearful glance behind her.

Krychek was gone.

Granted, he was just as evil as whoever had kidnapped her in the first place, but now she was alone. It _was_ nice to have the company in her panicked flight.

The branches whipped past her head, reaching out like bony fingers to pull at her clothes and her hair, scratching her exposed flesh.

Her frightened mind kept thinking she could hear someone else crashing through the brush near her and once she even thought she heard her name.

She didn't know where she was or even which direction she was going. All she knew was she had to keep moving. That's what she kept repeating to herself.

Run or die.

* * *

It was difficult to try and figure what to do. Calling her name might get her attention, but it would also get the attention of the assholes out here looking for her. And her mystery rescuer.

His radio squawked as one of the kidnappers chasing Anna was caught. It happened well away from Skinner, but he found himself on a slight incline overlooking the forest, only a break in the trees affording him a view from down below, and he peered down, catching sight of one other FBI agent.

A flash of yellow.

Yellow.

Anna had worn her light yellow windbreaker to the cemetery.

His heart sped up, and he squinted his eyes, wanting to make sure that was what he saw. Make sure it wasn't just wishful thinking.

Another break in the trees. Another flash of yellow.

For one brief second, she came into view at the bottom of the hill as she ran for all she was worth into a small clearing.

And someone was right behind her. Someone who was not wearing the obligatory FBI jacket. And someone he did not recognize.

* * *

Anna saw the clearing, knew she should probably veer around it. But by now, she was certain someone was right behind her, and it was hard for her to reason with her heart in her throat, fear right at her heels.

Whoever it was certainly wasn't Krychek, that much she knew. Funny that she'd rather see him at this point than any of these other goons who'd kidnapped her in the first place.

She launched herself into the clearing, picking up speed without any roots or branches in her path.

* * *

Skinner couldn't get to her in time. If he called out her name, it could confuse her even more, and it could give the bastard chasing her time to snatch her.

Or shoot her.

It was the way the man ran. With a purpose. His eyes never leaving her back. He knew it wasn't her rescuer. He knew this guy was after her, trying to catch her to prevent her escape.

Hell, he could be wrong, but at this point, he'd shoot her unknown rescuer, too, if he could just get her back.

Skinner stopped his crazy descent down the hill, slipping and sliding on leaves and other forest debris, catching himself on branches and rocks on the way down.

Visions floated through his mind from his dream, and he shook his head impatiently to clear them away.

She was not going to die. Not today.

He was too far away to discharge his weapon, the range was too great.

But, this was as good as it got. The best he could hope for was it would startle the man, giving her time to get away.

Breathing heavily, he slid to a stop, still a good 50 yards away. They were running parallel to him, neither one noticing him as he aimed his weapon carefully at her assailant.

He'd never felt so helpless in his life as he squeezed the trigger, remembering to aim high due to the long distance.

* * *

Anna heard the gun shot behind her, and automatically, she hit the ground, rolling through the weeds just feet from the woods and safety. Practically sobbing, she crawled the rest of the way into the forest, not daring to turn around and see if anyone was behind her.

She paused for just a moment, gasping for breath, but she didn't hear the pounding of feet that were so close just moments before.

Immediately, she charged through the brush once again, her lungs burning with exertion, her mind screaming at her to keep going.

Her life depended on it.

* * *

He couldn't believe it! He hit the man, grazed him on the shoulder it looked like. It slowed him down enough that one of the SWAT members caught up to him and tackled him.

Skinner resumed his chase. He saw her disappear in the reeds, then pop back up again on the edge of the woods.

The clinical part of his mind applauded her actions. She'd heard his shot and made herself a smaller target, despite the man behind her.

And the emotional part of his mind screamed in frustration. There was no telling how many more of them were out there, ready to get their hands on her.

But, she was alone. There was no one else with her.

So, who freed her from her second story prison?


	37. Chapter 37

Anna burst through the bushes, gasping for breath.

And skidded to a halt right on the edge of a cliff, grabbing the braches of the nearest tree to stop in time.

It was a river. Anna wasn't sure which river, but the water was a good 70 feet down. More distance than she wanted to fall, that was for damn sure.

Her chest heaving, she tried to listen for footfalls behind her, for someone else struggling through the brush, but the tumbling of the water below drowned out any pursuit.

_Well, I can't go forward._ She eyed the cold water below.

Taking a deep breath, she launched herself back into the woods.

* * *

Skinner stopped and listened, trying to hear over his rapidly beating heart.

The Elk River. He could hear it booming just up ahead.

Where in the hell did she go?

Did they have her? Did she . . . jump?

No, no, she wouldn't. Would she?

He glanced around. A broken branch here. A footstep there. She was leaving a trail that anyone with any tracking sense to could follow.

Then where _was_ she?

Another flash of yellow. He turned to his right just in time to catch her as she flew past him.

* * *

Anna screamed as she slammed into someone, back peddling the best she could. Black coat. Pistol gleaming in the weak sunlight through the tree tops.

No, no, _no_! They _wouldn't_ catch her now! She'd rather die of exposure in the woods. Or the water.

She had to get to the water.

She'd take her chances with the rapids than with this bunch.

But, he had her, holding onto her arm as she fought, punched and kicked.

"Let . . . me . . . _go_!"

Through her urgent need to get away, she thought she heard her name. In a voice she recognized.

Gasping for air, she finally focused on the man who towered over her.

* * *

Skinner couldn't believe his luck. She'd practically run right into his arms. He tried to hold her at arm's length as she struggled.

"_Anna_! Anna, _look_ at me!"

Breathing hard from exertion, he finally got her to focus on his face.

Fearful eyes. Hunted eyes. He'd seen it more than he cared to see through the years.

And seeing it on the face of the woman he loved, would stop at nothing to protect, made it just that much harder to accept.

"Oh . . ." It was almost as if she wouldn't even dare to believe it, her eyes brimming, tears threatening to spill down her scratched cheeks.

Relief spread through every bone in his body. He had her. Right here. In his arms. He wouldn't find her like he did in his dream, covered in blood. Dead. Lost to him forever.

But, relief was short-lived.

Some part of his brain still functioning, the part that never slept even in the relative safety of his home, heard the approaching intruder. With one swift movement, he whirled around, shoving Anna behind him, her soft cry of shock barely registering.

He didn't even get his weapon drawn before a shot rang out, echoing off the surrounding forest. Anna screamed and jumped, her fingers digging into his back.

The man that was trying to sneak up on them fell to the ground, his own gun falling from his fingertips as he hit the ground. Shot in the back of the head.

Skinner could just barely make out shouts from the SWAT team and other FBI agents. They were close, but not close enough for that sort of shot.

Briefly, Skinner's eyes flitted to the nearby tree line. Just ahead was a figure emerging from the woods.

One he never wanted to see again as long as he lived. The bastard.

Skinner kept his pistol trained at Krychek, just as Krychek kept his own weapon trained at Skinner.

"Put it down, Krychek." His voice was cold.

Krychek actually looked amused. "Why? So you can shoot me in the head just like I just shot this guy? Why let go of my advantage?"

Skinner's mind whirled with possibilities. And none of them made sense. "Put it down, Alex. Or I will shoot."

"I just saved your life, Walt, old boy. Your ass would have been grass if it weren't for me arriving just in the nick of time." Krychek thought for a moment. "Actually, you owe me two. I saved both of your lives. Hers twice."

Skinner ground his teeth in frustration, jaw working. "You're lying. You're working with Spender." Actually, if he thought about it, this was right up Krychek's alley.

Krychek motioned. "Tell him, Anna. Tell him I'm not working with him."

Skinner could feel Anna shake her head against his back as she clung to him, almost as if she didn't even want to tell him either. When she did speak, her voice was so soft, he had to strain to hear it. "He's not lying."

Skinner wasn't to be deterred. "You wanted her? For _what_?" He could feel the anger building, the anger he'd tried his best to hold at bay. "What _is_ she to you? Another pawn? Another bargaining chip?"

Voices through the trees were getting louder. But, Skinner didn't dare move.

Krychek, his eyes hard, chose his words carefully. "I was married once. They took her from me." Slowly, he lowered his arm until his weapon was dangling from his fingers. "She was innocent. Had nothing to do with the path I had chosen." He motioned with his prosthetic arm. "I wasn't going to let it happen again."

He stared at Skinner for a moment, his expression unreadable. Just as Skinner started to lower his weapon, Krychek disappeared into the woods.

"Is he . . . is he gone?" Anna whispered.

Rubbing his face with his hand, he whispered. "He's gone."

He'd have to save what Krychek told him for later. When he had time to sort it all out.

But, as the SWAT team closed in on them, he did what he'd wanted to do since he heard she had been taken from him. Gathering her in his arms, he held her as she sobbed, great gulping sobs of relief wracking her small frame, his whispered words of comfort doing little to soothe the own ache in his heart.

* * *

He'd led her back to the house and to safety, refusing to let her out of his sight as the paramedics looked her over. He was never far away as she spoke to the authorities. Told them everything she knew in her soft voice, no traces of fear left. Only exhaustion. And relief.

Wordlessly, he's handed her his cell phone and listened, detached, at her one-sided, tearful conversation with her family who were ensconced at her house, anxiously awaiting the news.

"No, Mom, I'm fine. No, I swear. Just a few cuts and bruises. What? He's right here. I'll . . . I'll tell you later. Is Dad there?"

He stood silent guard as she convinced her entire family she was going to live, ignoring the best he could the rolling emotions in his chest.

"No, Mom. No. Yes. I promise. Breakfast. Yes. I . . . I love you, too, Mom."

She ended the call and handed him the phone, pulling the scratchy blanket tighter around her. Her fingers lingered on his for a moment. Just that simple touch brought tears to his eyes. But, he wouldn't. Not here. There was too much to do.

He saw Mulder and Scully approaching, having shed their FBI jackets long before.

Mulder handed Anna a thermos. "You look like hell."

Skinner shot him a dirty look, and Scully practically elbowed her partner in the ribs at his comment.

But, Anna managed a dry chuckle. "Gee, thanks, Mulder. For verifying that I really do look as bad as I feel." She gratefully took the thermos, wrapping her fingers around it as if she could draw warmth directly from it.

Mulder rubbed his side where Scully had elbowed him, scowling, and Anna hid a smile.

But, Mulder was never one to be deterred. "I can't help but think Krychek had an ulterior motive . . ."

"Mulder. Watch it." Skinner growled. He didn't like having his own fears voiced aloud, the fears that said if they hadn't gotten here in time, she'd be in serious trouble.

Anna reached up without looking at him, touching his hand, and he backed down.

Mulder, accustomed to his superior's terse attitude, shrugged it off. But, gratefully, he dropped the subject. "So, how do you feel?"

"Like hell."

Mulder and Scully actually chuckled at her use of Mulder's own words.

But, Skinner couldn't find one damn thing that was funny about any of it. Before he could voice those thoughts, his cell phone rang annoyingly, and he stepped out of earshot, but kept her in his line of vision.

Anna watched him walk away. "I understand that I owe you – and the Lone Gunmen – my undying gratitude." She turned to look up at Mulder, managing a small smile.

Mulder shifted uncomfortable, his hands in his pockets, almost looking like a shy little boy. "Aw, it was nothing."

"Is it worth . . . say brownies for life?" Anna teased gently.

He brightened. "Now, I can't speak for Byers, Frohike and Langley, but that sure sounds like a deal to me!"

"Especially for you coming out here . . .after all you . . .went through." She motioned towards the bandage on his head.

"Hey, as long as it all turns out alright in the end."

"Amen," they heard Scully whisper.

She could feel eyes on her, and she turned. Walter was still on the phone, but he was watching her, almost as if she would disappear into thin air.

She looked back at Scully, knowing the agent was the closest thing he had to a confidante. "He's not taking this well, is he?"

Scully gave her a small smile. "I imagine he thinks he his."

Anna looked away. "I imagine you're right."

He hadn't argued when she said she was not going to her house tonight. She'd talked to her family several times, and Skinner figured they were not happy with her decision. But, it was her decision.

And, he knew she was right. She would not get any peace there tonight.

Plus, he wanted her to himself. Wanted to make sure she was truly as alright as the paramedics said she was. And, he didn't want to let her out of his sight, more than a little afraid they'd try again.

They hadn't talked about it on the way home, but sharing a car with Mulder and Scully, it was probably not the best of times. All he did was watch her sleep as she laid her head on his shoulder, occasionally brushed her hair off her cheek, studiously ignoring the looks in the rearview mirror from Scully as she drove.

When they reached his apartment, she headed straight for the shower. When he heard the water running, he went to his liquor cabinet and poured himself a strong belt of whiskey, downing it in one fell swoop. Shuddering a little as the alcohol worked its magic, he set the tumbler aside grateful for the artificial warmth.

Anna had claimed she was not hungry, and honestly, neither was he. Once the adrenaline had faded after the day's events, exhaustion had kicked in. He thumbed idly through the mail that had piled up in his absence, but none of it interested him.

He had decisions to make. Big decisions.

But first, they should probably discuss what had happened.

Somehow, he didn't want to. As much as he thrived on facts and the truths they revealed, he didn't want to relive it. It was too much for him to take right now.

He hadn't even realized the shower was off and for a moment, he panicked. But, no one would have gotten through the only door and up the stairs with him standing here. That was ridiculous.

Quickly, he made his way up the stairs. The light was still on in the bathroom, the door half-opened, soft light spilling on his bed.

She was already asleep, damp hair curled about her face.

Automatically, he stretched out next to her, watching her, memorizing every feature for the long days when he would be without her.

* * *

Tonygirl here. I suppose you could say Krychek just took her from Spender for the simple reason that he wanted to see if he could do it. And no, we don't know anything about Krychek's past, so I just made it up. My husband always said Krychek really wasn't bad, he just had to be to survive. So, blame it on my husband for me giving him a heart!

Oh . . . Roll Tide! Boo Longhorns! :-)


	38. Chapter 38

Mentions episodes "Requim", "Within", "Without" and "This is Not Happening."

* * *

Skinner wasn't surprised to see her standing in his office.

He also wasn't truly surprised at his reaction to laying eyes on her after he'd tried to distance himself from her. Especially since Mulder's disappearance. The tug at his heart. The jolt through his system like electricity.

But, he was surprised to realize how much he still needed her. Despite his promises to himself that it was best for her safety. To keep her alive. To keep their hands off her. That was most important right now in light of what happened over the past week to Mulder.

He motioned for her to sit, but she refused, standing stock still in front of his desk.

Finally, she broke the tense silence. "I had to come see for myself. That you really are alive."

So, she'd heard. He didn't even know how.

Probably those damn Lone Gunmen.

He knew she saw the burns, almost healed now, on his face from the bounty hunter who had tried to take Gibson Praise from him and Scully in Arizona.

A thousand responses rose in his mind, but he was too rattled. It was easy for him to say he could leave her when she wasn't standing in front of him. But, her expressive eyes – those damn eyes that haunted him in his sleep – were watching him, studying him, almost pleading with him not to do this.

He cleared his throat nervously. "I should have called . . ."

"Yes. You should have. Instead, I had to hear about Mulder and what happened in Arizona third hand." Her voice held accusations he wasn't ready to hear.

He stood. "It's for the best."

She'd had a long while to seethe. "The _best_? How do you know what's _best_ for me? All you've been doing is avoiding me for the last few weeks, and you think that's _best_?" Her tone clearly implied he was in the wrong.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "You've got to trust me on this, Anna. I don't want it to be this way, either. But, . . . we can't . . . I can't . . ." It was too hard to actually come out and say.

She stared at him for a moment incredulously. "After _all_ we've been through, that's _it_? You're willing to give up without a fight?"

He walked around his desk to stand in front of her, despite the warning in his head that close proximity to her would only lower his resolve. "This is bigger than all of us, Anna, you've got to believe that this is the right thing." Although he didn't know if it really was.

"So, you're just going to send out this memo on FBI letterhead that says something like, 'Anna Greensburg cannot be touched because I'm not sleeping with her anymore.'?" She waited briefly for a reply, but there wasn't anything he could say. "You've _got_ to be kidding me! You can't just turn off your emotions like that. Not even you. I _know_ you. And, I know you feel responsible for me and for Mulder and for everyone else that comes across your path, but you're _not_! We're all responsible for ourselves, make our own decisions to reach this point in our lives. Why can't you _understand_ that?" Her voice pled.

He took a deep breath. "I don't want you to get hurt."

"Oh, so, what you're doing to me doesn't hurt, huh?" He saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes that she fought back with determination. "Tell me one thing. I swear to you I'll walk out this door and never look back."

He waited, his heart in his throat.

"Tell me you don't love me. That you never did. That all the time we spent together was . . .was meaningless. All the nights. . . tell me that was nothing."

Her words brought up images in his mind he'd tried so desperately to curb. He wanted to yell out that she was wrong. That was _why_ he was doing this. Because he loved her.

But, that would just link her to him even more, a link he wanted to sever with only her life in mind.

Her eyes searched his, hopefully at first, but that hope fading with each passing moment.

Somehow, he made his mouth form the words she didn't want to hear, the words that would save her. "I never loved you." It was almost a whisper.

"You're lying." Her voice trembled, and his words hurt her as much as they hurt himself, that he could tell.

He didn't trust himself to say anything else, not as she fought tears right in front of him.

But, fight them she did, her head held high, whirling around to head towards the door.

Every fiber of his being wanted to call out to her, to stop her.

When she paused, her hand on the door knob, he swallowed hard, hoping and praying she wasn't going to make this any harder on him than it already was.

Her eyes were dry, her face calm. "You know, being with you is a risk I'm willing to take. Because you're worth it. Because I know, at the end of the day, you're not as strong as you think you are." A deep breath. "But, if you're willing to deny yourself happiness for the sake of the truth, that's your own decision. I can't save you from it. And if you're willing to let them win, then that's your choice, too. And, y_ou_ have to live with it."

She shut the door softly behind her, leaving him with a mindful of questions with no answers and a heart full of regret.

* * *

It was a popular cliché. "This is harder on me than it is for you."

But, Anna didn't think it applied in this case.

She knew what he was doing. Distancing himself. Pulling away. Hiding behind the wall she'd worked so hard to tear down.

She saw it coming from a mile a way, expected it even.

Although it hurt like bloody hell.

Immediately after she was kidnapped, he'd still see her. At the restaurant. At her house. Sometimes, she even risked showing up at his apartment when she knew he'd be there. Talk was stinted, almost as if they were ignoring the white elephant in the room.

But, the lovemaking was just as amazing as ever. That never changed. It was the one way he still needed her, to draw strength from her.

Sometimes, she wondered if he was using her just for that.

When he finally disappeared for weeks on end, she heard about the goings-on in Oregon and the desert. She knew he was there when Mulder was abducted. Knew he saw it, knew it changed his skeptical mind forever.

When she heard he'd been injured, she sat in the floor of her living room and cried. Mainly because, although he thought he was doing the right thing by letting her go, he was still in danger himself.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

Although she didn't want to, she made herself go see Dana Scully. The dark circles under the other woman's eyes spoke volumes, told just what she was going through due to her missing partner. Her friend. And Anna speculated her lover, as well.

And, her new partner was nothing like Mulder, or so she heard from the Lone Gunmen. John Doggett was practical, analytical and totally disbelieving at everything he had seen happen while looking for Mulder in Arizona, despite the evidence otherwise.

Anna felt sorry for the man, and she never even met him.

To avoid feeling sorry for herself, she threw herself into work, volunteering more hours than she ever worked before. She ran twice the distance each morning, forcing her screaming muscles to keep going, that she could do it. At the end of the day, she was too exhausted to cry herself to sleep.

But, the pain never seemed to go away.

The hurt in his eyes - not just from his faded burns - but from what he'd seen, what he'd done, was almost more than she could bear, and she found herself wanting to hold him, to make it all go away, to tell him that things would work out in the end.

But, this time, he didn't want her to. Or so he said.

And, she had to have some pride left at the end of the day. So, she'd left his office, leaving him behind. Not allowing the tears to fall until she was safely at home, behind closed doors.

This was different than Allen. He was dead. Taken from her. There was no way she'd see him again in this life.

But, Walter was still alive. Walking the streets. Working in the Hoover Building. Coming home to an empty apartment. This was almost harder to bear. He'd chosen this path.

Allen never would have chosen death. He'd have stayed with her. If it were his choice to make.

Walter _chose_ to leave her. _Chose_ to turn his back on what they had.

That in and of itself hurt more than anything anyone else could ever do to her.

* * *

It was the most awful thing he'd ever witnessed. And he'd seen things, especially in Vietnam, that were too terrible to repeat.

It was Scully's wail that haunted him the most. It drifted across the compound, around him and Agents Reyes and Doggett and Mulder's tortured, dead body.

After Jeremiah Smith's untimely abduction, they hadn't tried to stop her when she came back to where Mulder's body lay, almost as if something inside her had died. They'd turned away as she stroked his face, his hair, murmuring words to him only she could hear. It was too private. Too awful to imagine.

All of them were thinking about her baby, no longer a secret, wondering if it was his, then wondering how it could _not_ be his. There was never anyone else but Mulder. Even Agent Reyes, as new as she was to this scene, understood that.

He'd told Scully just the night before to not prepare for the worst. Somehow, she had started to give up, even after all this time of searching for him.

Apparently, that was the wrong advice to give. Maybe some preparation for what they were now witnessing would have helped.

After Agent Doggett finally led his broken-hearted partner away, Skinner wanted to apologize. He'd lost Mulder on his watch, and now the man was dead.

But, it was all just words. Empty words.

After all the details had been written up, all the evidence sent off for examination, Skinner got in his fleet vehicle. And drove east. He didn't know how the rest of them returned to Washington. He didn't even care at this point.

An early snowstorm was threatening the eastern half of the country, and several inches of snow were predicted as far south as Georgia, certainly rare this time of year. But, it didn't stop him. He drove right on through it.

All he knew was this was more than he could take. He'd reached a point where too much had happened in too short a span of time, and his brain, functioning purely on instinct, took him right to her front door.

* * *

For the first time this winter, Anna used the fire place. Although she was never crazy about gas logs, it sure was less messier than her parents old woodstove that they use to heat part of her old family home.

She hadn't seen it this blustery in DC since she'd been here. The temperature had to be in the low 20s, and with the wind wiping around and snow in the forecast, she stocked up on necessities, along with the rest of the city. DC didn't see much snow, but she was accustomed to it from growing up in Nebraska.

Gordo had closed the restaurant down early that night, since customers were sparse. His new 'idea' to bring in customers was to have all the waitresses wear this tight little numbers that barely came mid-thigh. They all hated them, especially this time of year when it was so cold. To add insult to injury, she always had to wear hose with the damned thing to keep her scarred leg from showing.

Rushing in with her groceries and starting the fire, she hadn't had time to change when the doorbell rang. Nails clacking, Nero rushed to the door, tail wagging.

Wondering who was out in such weather – Libby needing to borrow something maybe – she glanced through the curtain.

It was the last person she expected to see. Ever again.

Was she annoyed? Angry?

No.

But she should have been.

Hurriedly, she unlocked the door, staring at him for a moment as she shivered in the cold wind. It had already begun to sleet, and his coat was soaked from the short walk from her driveway to her front door.

And, he looked like hell.

Without a greeting, he walked into the house, and she shut and locked the door behind him.

As elated as she was to see him, she knew something was wrong.

But, she couldn't bring herself to ask. He never listened to her anyway, so why would he start now?

So, they stood in the foyer, the wind howling outside rattling the windows, and she waited for whatever it was he'd come out on such a horrible night to tell her.

She could see it on his face, on the weary lines around his eyes and mouth. A sadness she didn't know she'd ever seen.

Whatever it was, it was not good news.

"Mulder's dead." He could barely form the words, almost as if saying it made it just that much more real.

Her eyes widened. "Oh . . . oh, no. Oh, Walter . . ."

He shut his eyes, but he could still see Mulder's bruised and battered body, hear Scully's wail of anguish.

Anna didn't know what to do, but she couldn't just stand there and let him suffer. She didn't know what he'd seen, what they did to Mulder, but she could only imagine how Scully reacted.

Just the thought of the woman's sad blue eyes made her want to cry.

Anna knew how she felt. She'd lost her husband, having him taken from her. She understood.

And now, she'd lost Walter.

Although he was here now, standing right in front of her, a defeated slump to his shoulders she'd rarely – if ever – seen.

His brown eyes watched her, full of misery, of pain.

Part of her wondering if he'd even let her, she hesitantly stepped closer to him as his eyes never left her face. She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the reassuring beat of his heart on her palm.

It was a simple gesture, but she was always so talented in that respect. Showing how much she cared just with one small touch. And, after all he'd been through, it almost brought tears to his eyes. He covered her hand with his own, gently caressing it, while his other cupped her cheek gently, his fingers in her hair.

He knew it was wrong. He told her it was over, and although she didn't really believe him, she'd taken him at his word, left him alone.

But, once again, he couldn't take his own advice.

Her lips were soft, her mouth hot as he crushed his lips against hers, surprising even himself with the blatant need that rose within him, born of sorrow and of pain.

But, he wasn't the only one.

She pushed his wet coat off his shoulders, pulling his shirt out of his pants, running her hand over his bare back underneath his shirt, up and down his spine, making him shiver with longing and not the cold that permeated even his soul.

When his own fingers found their way to her bare breast, her moan of pleasure against his lips almost drove him insane.

Forgetting everything he'd seen, everything he'd said to her, even forgetting the storm outside, he had her clothes off and on the rug in front of her fireplace, enjoying the way the light from the flames danced over her bare skin.

But, he didn't take time to enjoy it. His own need was too great, and as he drove into her over and over again, her cries echoed his own.

* * *

Death haunts the living. To see a friend die, their body all that is left of the person that loved and was loved, shakes people to their core. In turn, the living are left with a part of them dead as well, the part that always thought death would never touch them.

With death comes the need to feel alive by those who are still walking the world. To know that whatever happens, _they_ are not the ones who are lying in the morgue, covered with a sheet.

Sex creates life, represents all the feelings and emotions one can only hope they are still capable of feeling.

They made love to each other throughout the night, keeping the demons at bay, if only just for a little while. He didn't think about tomorrow, or the past or even the present. He just . . .felt. The feel of her hand on him, guiding him into her. The way her skin felt, smooth, warm, silky underneath his fingertips. The arch of her back when she reached the point where she could hold back no longer. Her fingers making lazy circles on his chest as they lay together, sweaty, sated – at least for now, until he could feel the longing building inside of him once again, a longing that was mirrored on her face.

Even after she was sound asleep, he propped himself against the headboard and watched her as the storm roared outside, wanting to avoid the inevitable.

But, when morning came – and it always does – he couldn't avoid it any longer.

* * *

Anna felt him stir next to her, arising when sun shone weakly through the windows. She'd kept her eyes closed, wanting to hold onto the feeling from the night before for as long as she could.

By the time he finished his shower, she had to face reality.

A million things flew through her mind as she lay on her stomach, blankets tucked over her back, watching him dress.

This was it. She knew it.

Part of her wanted to be angry at him, but she couldn't hate him. He needed her. Hell, she needed him, would always need him.

"I've got to go," he finally said, not meeting her eyes.

"I know," she whispered. Although he'd told her late last night about what happened to his agent, his friend, she knew it was still haunting him. It always would.

She'd asked him to give it up. They would leave. Go far away together.

He'd told her no. He had to fight.

She knew he would say that. She expected it, would have been disappointed if he had turned his back on his friends.

But, she had to bring it up.

He turned to go, and she sat up, holding the blankets over her chest.

"Walter?" Her heart was pounding, but she couldn't let him go without saying a word.

He stopped, finally turning around and meeting her gaze, his own eyes hollow.

"I love you." It was the only three words she could think of to say. Everything else had been said and done.

"I know."

And, then he was gone.

Anna stayed in the bed and cried, surrounded by the smell of him on her skin and the memories of what they had that was taken from them. There were more casualties than the obvious ones who'd had their lives taken from them. And they were two more of them.

* * *

During and after Mulder's funeral, Skinner managed to keep himself distanced from what he knew was his last night with her.

Granted, it was hard to have time to himself. Scully, always the stoic, quiet one who held her emotions in check as compared to Mulder, took Mulder's death harder than he could have anticipated. In concern for her and her unborn child, her friends took turns with her, coaxing her back into the world, convincing her that she had so much to look forward to, despite what had happened.

Eventually, she returned to work under Agent Doggett's watchful stare.

But, Skinner's work didn't end there.

Kersh was enjoying the power he had over Skinner and the X-Files. He didn't fail to gloat over it in his underhanded way, making Skinner's teeth grind with frustration.

But, he had to do as dictated. So did Doggett. And as much as she hated it, so did Scully.

He knew what everyone was saying behind his back. He'd given up a stellar career, even a Deputy Director position, to chase little green men.

Grey men.

What they didn't know was there was so much more than that.

But, Skinner never took the time to explain. Honestly, he cared less what anyone said, ignored it, his ever-decreasing circle of friends gathered about him.

He slept less, exercised more and generally blocked Anna from his mind. He had to. There had been no other attempts against her life, so a part of him was relieved that he was right. She had nothing to do with him or the X-Files or this crazy mess that killed Mulder. She was safe. But, any thoughts of her that threatened to creep up on him almost took his breath away, just as if Krychek had flipped a switch, bringing the nanotechnology back to life.

But, that wasn't it. This time, it was only a broken heart.

And there was no cure for it, either. But time.

He hoped.


	39. Chapter 39

Follows episode "DeadAlive"

* * *

Anna walked out of the doctor's office in a trance, the cold air whipping around her not even registering. In her hand, she clutched a set of instructions, her mind ringing with the doctor's warnings.

_You must not over extend yourself._

_Your previous doctor warned against this, due to the scarring._

_You need to make sure you take better care of yourself_.

She cranked her car and drove aimlessly home on autopilot, taking the turns and roads without thinking. A few times, she reached for the paper, the one that verified that she was – indeed – 12 weeks pregnant.

A baby. She was going to have a baby.

The image of her dead son floated into her head, and tears filled her eyes. She would never have dreamed she would have another child. The doctors had given her little hope, and she couldn't imagine replacing her beloved son.

But, she loved the child growing within her the moment she saw the two blue lines on the home pregnancy test. All the doctor did was confirm it.

Her parents. What would they say? They would want her to come home. Did she want to come home? People would talk, but at this point, she was beyond caring.

And Walter. She should tell him. Her first instinct was to dial his number and blurt out the news. It should be happy news. The tears fell in earnest when she thought about his reaction. Would he be shocked? Angry? Excited?

But, she hadn't seen or heard from him since he quietly left her house that snowy morning in November. She knew nothing she could see could change his mind, and over the past weeks she alternated from flat out hating him for it to being worried about him.

And, she'd passed off her exhaustion as something she was doing to herself – keeping herself so busy, she didn't have time to mope, to miss him, to mourn what they had.

But, now she had something else. Or, she would in six months.

And, she'd have to do it alone.

The tears fell in earnest this time, and she fumbled for her purse, reaching for a napkin or anything to blow her nose. Damn hormones.

Her fingers pulled out a sheet of paper. Not what she was looking for.

But, she paused when she saw what it was. A list. _Her_ list.

And right there, staring her in the face, was Number 10.

Go on a safari in Africa.

There was a loud honk, and she slammed on brakes, almost creaming the car in front of her.

As her heart rate slowed, she glanced back at the list for a moment, still clutching it in her hand.

The next one also glared at her.

Swim in the Dead Sea.

Still on autopilot, her mind reeling, she filled her prescriptions and found herself at home, sitting in her car in her driveway, trying to make sense of it all.

Her safety was the number one reason he left her. To get the target off her back. To show to the shadowy figures behind the scenes that she couldn't be used to get to him any longer.

Woodenly, she trudged inside, dumping her packages on the table as she flopped in the chair. The only noise was the clock ticking over the sink.

She couldn't tell him. This child would just be more leverage.

Child . . .she was having a baby.

She couldn't help the happy jolt that went through her system.

But, there was too much to think about. Too much to do.

Anna was fairly certain she was no longer being watched, but as she lightly placed her hand on her stomach, she felt a wave of motherly protection. She would fight to keep her child safe. If they were keeping tabs on her, they would know it was his when she began to show. She had been with no one else.

Digging through her purse and finding the list, she studied it once again, conveniently ignoring the few she'd marked off with Walter. Those were happier times, when she'd finally decided to live once again.

Today, she still wanted to live. But, for a totally different reason.

She planned and schemed and researched well into the evening, remembering to stop to eat and take her medicine.

She would make it through this pregnancy. Her child would live. And be protected to the best of her abilities.

She pushed any thought of Walter out of her mind. She may tell him way down the road when she was ready to endure his anger and shock for keeping his son or daughter a secret from him.

After all, he made the decision without consulting her of ending their relationship, stating it had to be done.

Well, this had to be done, too.

The next morning, she was still just as resolved. Gathering her carefully constructed plans and a hastily baked batch of cookies, she headed towards the three men who could help her get what she wanted.

The cookies got her in the door, although she was always welcome.

Not ones for small talk, she waited on them to get settled with their hands full of snacks before she made her grand announcement.

Her face registered nothing but calm. She'd made her decision.

"I want to disappear. To Africa. And I want _you_ to help me do it."

They looked like a bunch of guppies with their mouths hanging open, and she waited patiently on them to tell her what she needed to do.

Byers found his voice. "We . . . we knew you were upset. About Skinner. But . . . this . . . this is . . . is . . ."

"Kind of a little much, don't you think?" Frohike said, eyeing her.

Anna expected some resistance, and she had her argument lined up. "He has no say in what I do. Not anymore. He lost that right when he let someone else dictate his life."

"Can't argue with you there, hon," Langley drawled. He eyed her folder full of notes. "Looks like you've put a lot of thought into this, too."

Anna took a deep breath, opening her file. "I have. You see, there's a job opening at a wildlife magazine. For a photographer. The only stipulation is . . . the photographer has to live in Africa. No travel back and forth."

Byers studied her, knowing something was fishy. "What do you need us for? Take the job, get a plane ticket and boom, you're in Africa."

This next step was a little tricky. "I want to disappear, John. I want a new identity. New birth records, Social Security number, passport, credit history. I want it all. Anna Turner Greensburg will cease to exist and Anna T. Stanikowski will appear. In Africa."

"Stanikowski? Where the hell did you get that name?" Frohike asked, recovering enough to much on another cookie.

"It was my grandmother's maiden name."

"What about your family? You're close, if I remember correctly," Langley pointed out.

That was the tricky part, and the hardest decision. But, in the end, she knew they'd want her to be happy, to be safe. Her and her child they would not know about as of yet. "I was . . . hoping you'd help me out with that. They wouldn't understand."

"Damn straight, they wouldn't," Frohike muttered.

Anna ignored him, crossing her ankles underneath her chair. "I thought . . .maybe . . . that I could send them letters and things. Through you. That way, they wouldn't know where I am and no one could trace me through them."

Byers's eyes were dubious. "They won't like knowing where you are."

"They'll have to live with it. Plus, I'll tell them I'm touring Europe or something. Probably say I've found a job and live there for a bit."

"What about if they want to visit?"

Anna rolled her eyes. "Trust me. They are not leaving this country. Even for me."

Her mother thought every country other than American, including the European continent, were 'heathen' countries.

She'd have a fit if she knew Anna was living in Africa.

Anna squared her shoulders when faced with their doubts. "It's my life. And, I'll pay you well for it."

"It's not coin I'm worried about," Langley muttered. "Who'll make us cookies when you're gone?"

She had to smile at that. "There's always airmail."

For the next hour, she went over, in detail, what she wanted from them. In turn, they had to ask her all the appropriate questions to fill in the blanks for her new life.

Finally, she felt as if she were getting somewhere.

Byers, studying her notes as she and Langley wound down their discussion, spoke up. "Why are you living the next few months in Cape Town?" He sat the file down. "It's not exactly the type of photos this magazine is looking for, I imagine."

Anna knew this was coming and told herself she would not lie to these men. Also, she wanted someone else to know, since there was no one she felt safe in telling. "I . . . uh . . .need to be close to a hospital."

Byers looked alarmed. "What are you not telling us?"

"More importantly, what are you not telling Skinner?" Frohike asked.

Anna cleared her throat, looking at her hands clasped in her lap. "I . . . I need to be close to a hospital that has the facilities to deal with . . . difficult labor and delivery." She met their shocked expressions evenly, gauging their reactions.

Frohike was the first to comment, leaning back in his chair. "Well, I'll be damned. First Scully, and now you. A regular baby explosion around here."

"Since there's some question about the conception of Scully's baby, are you sure this isn't some sort of . . ." Langley asked, eyebrows in his hairline.

Anna heard the rumors. She shook her head. "Nothing suspicious about this."

Byers finally spoke up, watching her closely the entire time. "He doesn't know, does he?"

Anna shook her head, biting her lip against the guilt. "And, he won't."

Byers was not pleased. "But . . . you've _got_ to tell him! And, you can't run off to Africa. It's . . . it's not safe! It's dangerous! It's . . . it's . . ."

"Just as dangerous as here, isn't it?"

Byers fell silent, and she continued, choosing her words carefully. "Look, John, I appreciate your concern. But, women have babies all the time in Africa, and it would be a good experience for a child to grow up there, don't you think?" She hoped, at least. "And, Walter . . . rid himself of me because he was worried about my safety. Don't you think if he knew about this, it would only put me . . . and the child at more risk?"

Byers wanted to argue. As much as Skinner annoyed the crap out of him, just the thought of the man not knowing about his own child saddened him in ways he couldn't explain.

"She's right, Byers. It's her choice," Langley pointed out.

"Yeah, and he dumped her, so the bastard doesn't have a right to know," Frohike added.

Byers shook his head, knowing he was outnumbered. "I don't think it's right."

"Please, John. Don't tell him. Don't tell anyone. It's . . . it's how I want it to be," she pled.

He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then exhaled. "Fine. I'll do it. For you."

She managed a wobbly smile. "Thanks, John. You two guys, too."

"Well have it all ready for you in a week," Langley said.

"Out with the old, in with the new," Frohike proclaimed importantly.

One week. One week to prepare herself. To get her affairs in order. Everything she had to do almost overwhelmed her, but she swallowed her fears. She'd made her decision, and there was no turning back now.

* * *

Mulder was alive!

What sort of unimaginable feat occurred to cause it, Skinner didn't know. Every time he saw the man walking around, it floored him with the sheer impossibility of it all.

Scully was a new woman at having her old partner back, and for that reason, Skinner was grateful.

He was also grateful that no one seemed to blame him for trying to do everything he could to keep Mulder from waking up. At the cost of Scully's baby, he knew he'd rather take Mulder from her than the child. She'd never forgive him, either way, and it was a decision that made him shake each time he thought of it.

But, taking him off the machines actually helped Mulder. And, he made sure they knew his reasons. Krychek. Threatening his life for the vaccine. Offering him Mulder's life for his own.

The bastard.

But, in the end, Mulder was alive, Scully and the baby were healthy, and miracle of miracles, the X-Files were still intact, John Doggett now at the helm.

Except one thing was missing. One person he was glad not to have around to see him have to grovel at Krychek's feet for his life and Mulder's.

But, he sure as hell needed her those few days.

It was his fault she wasn't around. And, it was gratifying to know that threatening Anna wasn't even in the picture.

So, at least something he had done was not in vain.

Didn't make it any easier, however.

His assistant was gone for the day. Probably to Scully's baby shower. She was due any day now. Despite the fact she complained about the weight gain and the strain on her back, Skinner had never thought her to be as beautiful as she was right now.

Of course, he'd never tell her that. He had too much respect for her to put her in such an embarrassing situation.

Rifling through his desk drawer, looking for a particular file that concerned Agent Doggett, Skinner started when his cell phone rang from his coat pocket draped over the chair near the door.

He would have let it go to voicemail, but with Scully being so close to delivery, he had to answer it.

But, it was a number he didn't recognize.

He answered it anyway.

"Skinner."

"Oh, is this Walter Skinner?" her voice was cheerful, actually sounding a little relieved that she'd reached him.

"Yes?" he answered warily.

"Mr. Skinner, this is Melanie calling from Dr. Acosta's office. We've been looking for Anna Greensburg, and we've been unable to contact her. Since you were listed as her contact, we thought we'd try this number."

Skinner thought he might have to sit down. Visions of her kidnapping several months earlier flit through his mind, and his heart constricted with fear.

Not again. Not after he'd made himself miserable by living without her.

He thought to the last time he'd seen her. The night after they'd found Mulder dead.

It wasn't a night he was likely to forget.

"Mr. Skinner? Are you there?"

"Oh . . . uh . . .I'm sorry. What were you saying?"

The cheerful voice continued. "Well, she's missed several appointments, and it's time for her 24-week check-up. Since she's such a high-risk pregnancy, we were trying to find her and get her to come in the office."

This time, he did sit down, his knees giving out from under him.

_What_? Anna's _pregnant_?

His mind reeled with the possibilities.

_She didn't tell me?_

It could be a mistake. Doctors made them all the time.

But first, he had to respond to this woman's request, get her off the phone, so he could find Anna himself. "I . . . uh . . . you tried her home number? And her cell?"

"Yes, sir, but they've been disconnected. We even called her at work, but they said she'd left town. We just wanted to verify that and maybe forward her records to her."

He breathed a sigh of relief. They didn't have her. They wouldn't cancel her phone service. Or let her officially leave Gordo's.

And, it wasn't a mistake on the doctor's part.

But, where the hell was she?

"Let me get back to you." He ended the call before she could protest, having to give himself a moment to collect his thoughts. In a daze, he sorted through the questions.

_Where did she go? Why didn't she tell me? That's assuming it's mine._ He mentally counted back 24 weeks.

OK. There was no denying whose child it was.

Elation momentarily filled his sore heart. And right behind it the fear at the responsibility of bringing a life into a world filled with so many unknowns.

And the fact that the unknowns in his life seemed more so than normal.

Home. She probably went home to her family.

_But, why didn't she tell me?_

Shaking the persistent thought away, he rummaged through a file until he found what he was looking for.

Her mother was none-to-happy to hear from him, but she did seem quite surprised that he didn't know Anna's whereabouts.

And, she didn't seem to even know about the baby. He was fairly certain she would have mentioned it. But, all she did was vaguely reference a European tour Anna decided to take.

Europe? Anna?

None of this made any damn sense, and by the time he ended the call, he had more questions than before.

Grabbing his coat, he headed for the elevator.

In record time, he was standing in her driveway. At least, it used to be her driveway. Now, three children, stared at him among the debris of their imagination. Sand boxes, toy trucks and see saws littered the front lawn.

He knew she wouldn't be here. But, he had to see for himself.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he'd pictured her here. Although he had broken all contact with her, it was comforting to picture her going about her daily routine. Some things never changed, and he had banked that she was one of them.

Apparently not.

Resolutely, he marched to the front door, knocking on the still-scarred wood, his heart jolting in his chest just at the sight of it.

Well, if he was worried about her safety before, she'd taken care of that on her own.

A harried woman answered the door, a baby on her hip. "Can I help you?"

Skinner already had his story planned out, his identification in hand. He'd get into more than his fair share of trouble if anyone found out, but he had to know. "Walter Skinner, FBI, can I ask you a few questions? About the previous owner?"

Looking befuddled, the woman stood aside and let him enter.

Anna's house. Her home.

Sure, the walls were the same, but that was about it. The family had certainly made their mark here.

Determinedly, he ignored the fire place, didn't even look down the hall to what used to be her bedroom.

Where, apparently, they'd conceived a child.

"Mr. Skinner? You said something about the previous owner? Is she in some sort of trouble?"

"Ah . . . no. We were just looking for her to ask her a few questions about an . . . incident. Do you know where we might find her?"

The woman jiggled the chubby child on her hips, and Skinner tried not to stare, his mind going in ten directions at once.

"My husband dealt with all the paperwork when we bought the house, and I don't know if he ever saw her. Maybe once. When we signed everything."

Anna didn't rent it. She really wasn't coming back.

"Do you mind if I see it? The paperwork?" Sure, it was a strange request, but he wanted to see for himself. No blind faith in others' words this time.

Looking dubious, she almost looked like she was going to protest. But, what was the harm in showing him a few papers?

She disappeared down the hall, murmuring something about having to find them.

Skinner waited, trying to put his thoughts in order the best he could.

Europe? She'd never said anything about Europe?

And why didn't she even tell her family? Sure, they'd seemed close, but maybe she didn't want to worry them.

Hell, why didn't she tell him?

The woman bustled back into the kitchen, papers in her hand. "This is all I could find. I can call my husband if you need anything else. I think the originals are in a safe deposit box at the bank."

Skinner was already skimming the file. "No, that's alright," he murmured.

It all looked to be in order. And, at the end, was her signature. Not a faked one, he was certain.

But, the name of the witness, who signed in several places, made his heart pound in his chest.

_J. F. Byers_

He tried not to clench the papers any harder in his fists than he had to. "Thank you very much. I'm sorry for the intrusion." He handed the paperwork back to her, and she saw him to the door.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help."

"No. You've done enough."

The three children and their mother stared at him as he climbed into his car. When he left the slower speed limit of the neighborhood, he floored it.

_Europe my ass._

* * *

Uh-oh! Byers is in TROUBLE!


	40. Chapter 40

References to the beginning of season 9 and "Audrey Pauley."

* * *

"Dammit, open this door!" Skinner pounded on it for all he was worth. "I'll shoot it down if I have to!"

From inside, Langley, Frohike and Byers studied him through the surveillance camera set up outside, his pounding echoing through the dark room.

"I'd say he's pretty pissed," Langley said.

"Hell, for _what_? We haven't done anything but save his ass lately," Frohike drawled.

"I vote for not answering it," Langley said. "Maybe he'll go away."

"He said he'd shoot the door down," Byers pointed out.

"He wouldn't dare," Frohike muttered.

When Skinner pulled his gun and backed up, Frohike cursed.

Byers pushed the button for the intercom. "Hold on, Mr. Skinner. Don't do anything rash."

"Then open up the goddamned door!" Skinner replied, his angry voice loud and clear through the microphone.

Frohike shuffled to the reinforced door, unlocking all the bolts and chains. "Here goes . . ."

Skinner stormed past him. He glanced around the room, and when his eyes settled on Byers, he practically launched himself at the man, shoving him up against the wall.

"Where is she, you sonovabitch? What did you do with her?" He shook Byers for emphasis.

"Hey, hey, no need for violence! We're all friends here, remember?" Langley tried to placate the angry man to no avail.

Skinner waited impatiently. "Well? I'm waiting."

Byers stared at him, eyes wide, knowing he was no match for the man. "I . . . in Europe."

"That's a lie, and you fuckin' know it!"

"Why do you care all of the sudden, Walter? Looking for another one-nighter?" Frohike was baiting him, drawing him away from Byers.

Skinner stared at the other man, his anger clear on his face, his mouth unable to form any coherent words as he clutched Byers's collar in his fists.

Wanting to counteract Frohike's insults, especially if Skinner took it out on him, Byers cleared his throat. "You want to keep her safe? Don't you? Then drop it. Don't worry about it. She's safe where she is."

Skinner turned his attention back to Byers, his calm words cutting through his frustration. Hesitantly, he let the smaller man go and turned away.

"What about the baby?" He couldn't meet their eyes.

The three men exchanged glances behind his back.

"What . . . baby?" Langley asked.

Skinner whirled around, the fury rising again in his face. "Don't lie to me."

"How?" Byers asked, ignoring the elbow in the side from Frohike.

"Her doctor. They called . . . she didn't show for her 24-week check-up."

_24 weeks. Six months. She'd be showing. Know the sex. Could feel the baby's first kick . . ._

His fury faded, and by the way his shoulders slumped dejectedly, they knew the direction his thoughts were headed. But, none of them made a move towards him. To be on the safe side.

Byers spoke first. "The baby's fine."

Skinner hated the tears that pricked his eyes and bit his tongue until he tasted blood to keep them at bay. Recognizing his foolishness for what it was, he clamped down on his emotions. Still not trusting himself with words, all he could do was nod once.

Feeling a little braver that Skinner hadn't torn him to shreds, Byers ventured further. "She wanted it this way. And, we think she's right."

"To keep my child from me? To keep . . . to run from me?" Those damn tears again.

"It's what _you_ wanted, remember?" Frohike pointed out.

"And, it seems, she's just acting on _your_ wishes," Langley continued.

Skinner knew they were right. God, he hated it, but they were right. "Could you . . . can you get a message to her? From me?"

The three men didn't know what to say. Finally, Frohike decided to break the silence. "Don't do that to her. This is hard enough as it is."

Skinner swallowed hard, running his hand over his head, nodding his consent.

Without speaking, he went to the door and walked into the night.

Langley let loose a low whistle. "That was deep, man."

"Too deep," Frohike agreed. "And, I've said it before, and I'll say it again. He doesn't deserve her."

Byers still stared at the door Skinner had shut quietly behind him, bothered by the entire situation.

* * *

Anna had to giggle at Byers's miserable expression despite the pain from her stitches.

"Oh, John! You act like you can't live without air conditioning for just a little while."

Byers fanned his face, sweat rolling off his forehead. "How on God's green earth do you do it? Lie there and look so cool, so collected when it's 147 degrees in here."

Anna rolled her eyes. "It's only 80. And, you get used to it."

"Thank God I'm flying back to civilization in a few days."

"You know, there are four McDonalds in Cape Town," she teased lightly.

"Probably use camel instead of beef." He stood in front of the fan, holding his shirt up, so the air could blow on his bare stomach. "Ah! Heaven!"

"You really need to take in some sights before you go home," Anna pointed out, shifting in her bed, getting more comfortable, trying to remember not to scratch at the bandage on her abdomen.

"What's there to see? I can see deserts and mountains and forests in the good ol' US of A."

"Spoken like a true American." They both laughed before she continued. "It's really sweet of you to come all the way out here to look after me like you did."

Byers actually looked embarrassed. "I didn't want to you do it. Alone. Plus, I didn't realize you had such good friends here."

"I'm not a recluse, John. And, the people here are wonderful."

He picked at the piece of paint on the window sill, the window open to bring in the warm breeze. "Are you going to keep this house? You know, since the baby's born now."

"Sure. I only stay out in K'takleg for part of the year." She mentioned the name of the village out in the 'wilds' as Byers so liked to call it that welcomed the American photographer with open arms. "I think I'll keep it. Because you know, it _is_ nice to have some form of civilization to come home to."

Byers still looked like something was bothering him, but Anna just waited on him to speak first. It never worked to push him.

Finally, he blurted it out, just as she knew he would. "Are you really going to take Mary Grace out there? She's just a baby . . ." He threw his hands up in his own helpless gesture, as if he really didn't quite know how to voice his concerns.

"John, the village is full of children. Fat, happy, loved and safe children." Once she realized how everyone in the village all looked after each other, even adopting her into their culture, she knew it was the right thing to do. "Besides, I enjoy my work. I've seen so many things out here I never would have seen otherwise."

"I know. I get the magazine."

Anna smiled. "This is home, John. This is where I belong."

"If something bad happens . . ."

"I got to Cape Town in time for the birth, didn't I? A hundred miles goes fast in one of those jeeps that the village has."

The baby chose that moment to waken, small noises getting ready to turn into huge cries. Glad for the diversion, John picked Mary Grace up carefully, talking to her in that silly baby talk people always manage to use around an infant.

Mary Grace was clearly not impressed until she was safely at her mother's breast, sucking away.

Anna watched her eat, smoothing the dark, downy hair down as she hummed absently a lullaby.

Byers had to admit. She really did look happy. Content. It was the same look Scully had just after William was born. Before the talk of super soldiers and kidnappings made her struggle with the idea of giving him up for adoption. For his own safety.

Not for the first time, Byers felt a flash of anger at everyone who had caused them all so much pain. All of them had suffered, and for what?

Nothing, as far as he could tell. There were still no answers. Only more questions. And now Agents Reyes and Doggett were dragged into this hellhole with the rest of them.

Of course, he knew thinking about what could have been was useless. But, who didn't like to wallow in self-pity on occasion.

At least the sight before him was a damn sight better than the rest of them were dealing with back in DC. And Mulder, where ever the hell he'd disappeared to.

"Are you going to tell your family?"

"I sent my grandmother an email through Frohike today. With a picture," she whispered. "I made sure they knew that I am safe and happy and well cared for. In Europe." She wanted them to know about the child. She couldn't keep it from them. They could draw their own conclusions from there.

At this point, she was fairly certain no one could find her, even if they were keeping tabs on her family.

How paranoid was _that_?

Byers shook his head. "They would want to be here."

Her eyes met his. "It's my life. For years, I lived as they wanted me to. But now, I've been out in the world they've tried to shelter me from. This is where I belong." Mary Grace fussed, and Anna burped her before switched her to her other arm, so she could continue her meal.

She waited. She knew what the next question would be.

"Are you going to tell him?"

She felt a pang as she watched her daughter nurse. Their daughter. Often, she'd wondered what it would have been like to have him by her side. To share in the joy as the baby grew inside of her, to be there for the delivery.

Pipe dreams. All of it.

She looked away from her daughter towards Byers. "I don't want what happened to Dana to happen to me. If that means he doesn't know, then that's the price we all pay."

Byers never told her that he already knew, had confronted them about it. "Do you even . . . think about him?"

"Everyday," Anna answered honestly. "Sometimes, I miss him so much that . . ." It was hard to put into the words. The loneliness. The worry. Waking up in the middle of the night and reaching for someone who wasn't there.

He didn't press her to finish. Unfortunately, he understood all to well. He'd seen the same haunted look in Skinner's eyes when he thought no one was looking that he saw on Anna's face, even with her child at her breast.

He stared out the window into the bustling street full of cars and bikes and people. The occasional cry of a salesman hawking his wares were mixed with the honk of car horns. Except for the language, it was almost like being in DC.

"You're taking it well."

Anna brushed her hair from her face. "I've done this before, Byers."

Scott. He'd be almost seven.

His cherubic face still caused her sadness, even after everything else she'd been through.

"I know that," Byers said with a sigh. "I mean, the . . . the hysterectomy."

Anna looked down at her daughter. Big brown eyes stared back.

Her father's eyes.

The delivery had been easy enough, but due to the scarring from the accident, the doctors couldn't stop the bleeding. An emergency hysterectomy was performed, putting her on bed rest for a few days. John's presence was a godsend during all of it.

"I've been lucky enough – blessed enough – to find two men who loved me. Allen gave me Scott," she paused for a moment, a catch in her throat. "And now, I have Mary Grace. That's more than any woman can ask for."

As if she knew she was being discussed, the baby flailed her arm about wildly, making Anna laugh.

* * *

Once again, Skinner found himself at the bedside of one of his agents. Reyes, this time. The doctors said she wasn't going to make it, the impact doing too much damage.

Damned drunk driver.

The whirl and hiss of machinery keeping her alive, only for her parents to arrive was all too familiar. He'd been in this situation dozens of times before, first with Mulder and Scully, and now with Doggett and Reyes.

Doggett was inconsolable, and not for the first time, Skinner wondered about the powers that be putting two single agents of the opposite sex together as partners. That was usually not how it worked, but it seemed the X-Files encouraged deviant behavior from everyone that came across it.

He hadn't wanted Doggett to call Scully. She had problems, worries of her own. But, Doggett had insisted.

Of course, Scully told him the same thing. The doctors were right. She was brain dead.

That did not sit well with Doggett.

And then, there was apparently something else going on at this hospital. Something sinister enough to distract Doggett away from Reyes's side.

But, he always came back. To sit by her. To stroke her face softly and speak to her.

Skinner couldn't say he wouldn't do the same thing if their roles were reversed. Demand something else be done for someone he cared so much about.

_Anna_.

The passage of time didn't help. The ache was still there. The loneliness. The need.

He'd hunted for her, exhausted every avenue he knew.

But, it was almost as if she'd disappeared off the face of the earth. Even the $15 million was gone, and he had no way of knowing how she could hide that much money.

He'd managed to hide himself in his own cloak of misery, blocking everyone else out. He worked, he functioned, but he was not a happy man.

And, then there was the baby.

He'd added it up and knew when she was due. When Byers disappeared about the same time, he knew where he went.

To say he was jealous was an understatement. He was downright furious at the man.

When Byers just as quietly returned a few weeks later, Skinner had studied him for a moment the first time he saw him. He'd more than likely saw her when she was days away from delivery, just as beautiful as ever. He'd seen her give birth, held the child he was not even supposed to know about.

It was hard not to hate the man.

But, Byers couldn't help it. This – all of this – was not of their choosing.

Instead, all he did was ask one question. Or try to, at least

"Is she . . ." He couldn't quite get it out.

All Byers did was nod.

That was it.

The less he knew, the better.

But one day, when this was over – if it were ever over – they would tell him where she was. And, he would go to her.

And not because of the child, although that was certainly a good enough reason. It was only for the simple reason that he needed her, loved her and found his life was empty without her.

When the doctors came for the last time to 'pull the plug' essentially, he wondered if he would have to drag Doggett away as he insisted that Monica was not dead. She had somehow, someway given him a message through one of the nurses who was killed by that deranged doctor on staff. Or so he claimed.

Skinner had never seen the man so emotional about anything. Always levelheaded. Always calculating. Like Scully, really.

But, if anyone would know this woman, it would be Doggett.

So, when her heart monitor sped up, and she opened her eyes, Skinner couldn't say he was surprised.


	41. Chapter 41

References to "Jump the Shark" and the end of Season 9. I took some 'creative license' with some questions Mr. Carter left us with after the last episodes, too.

* * *

Skinner stared at the computer tech as if he had just given him a death sentence.

"What do you mean you can't read anything off it?"

Not accustomed to assistant directors yelling at him, the man was more than a little jittery. "I'm sorry, Assistant Director Skinner, but . . . but these computers . . . there's nothing on them. It was almost like . . . someone erased them."

"Shit!" Skinner banged his fist on the table in frustration, making the agent jump, inside wondering why these computers were so important.

Whatever it was, it wasn't here, that's for sure.

Skinner's cell phone rang just in time, and the tech blew out the breath he was holding when the AD stormed out.

Hell, he was just the messenger. It wasn't his fault that somehow, someway, those three Lone Gunmen or whatever they called themselves had their computers self-destruct upon their deaths. He didn't even want to contemplate how they managed it. Or what exactly was erased.

* * *

"Sir, if we knew exactly what we're looking for, it might make this a little easier." Reyes said in her own saucy way, arms crossed over her chest. Both her and Doggett's clothing were dusty. No telling when Byers, Langley and Frohike cleaned the place last.

Doggett saw the tale-tell signs that his boss was already at the end of his rope. The glare in his eyes. The bulging vein on his forehead. He tried to head it off at the pass. "I know you have us looking for something important. But, there's a lot of . . . well junk there . . ."

"Including some interesting picture of Dana I bet she doesn't know about," Reyes smirked. She lost the look when Doggett gave her a 'shut up' glare.

"What I'm trying to say is, if we knew what we were looking for, well, it really would make this easier." Doggett finished, cringing inwardly. Judging by Skinner's glare, he hadn't done much better.

But, without warning, all the fight left the man, almost as if someone had taken a pin to him, deflating him.

He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily.

Doggett and Reyes exchanged confused looks, but remained silent as he replaced his glasses. Not for the first time, his agents noticed the weary lines around his eyes. They'd heard the rumors. They knew about the kidnapping, although it was before they were on the X-Files. But, they never discussed it. It was just one more sad piece of the puzzle they were all trying to pout together.

Skinner didn't know what he was thinking. If Byers and the others were smart enough to have their computers self-destruct, they certainly wouldn't leave anything lying around telling him Anna's exact location.

So, this was it. It died with them.

A pall hung over his head throughout the remainder of the day. By the time he retrieved his mail downstairs at his apartment, he was too tired to figure out why there were several pieces that didn't belong to him in his box. Including a magazine with some sort of zebra on the cover.

As usual, his apartment was silent. It wasn't the first time he walked in his door and realized he could have walked into the wrong apartment and not known. There were no personal touches. Nothing to show who lived here and what kind of man he is.

After pouring himself a liberal amount of scotch, he opened the French doors to the balcony. The air was humid, but a slight breeze was blowing.

His thoughts, as they usually did, strayed to Anna. Ever since he was told the Lone Gunmen were dead, sacrificing themselves to a virus so the rest of the world could be spared, he was hell bent on finding some sort of clue. Deep inside, he knew Doggett and Reyes were right. They would find nothing. Just like on the computer hard drives. Sure, he was actually saddened about their deaths, grudgingly growing to like the three men. They'd proved themselves many times before, even for his behalf.

Despite the fact they helped Anna get away.

He took a large swallow of scotch, enjoying the burn of it down his throat and in his chest.

That wasn't fair. He'd pushed her away. And, she was just doing as he asked.

The baby would be four months old by now.

He wanted to hate her for keeping the child from him. But, he just couldn't manage to do it. He understood. It was what he asked of her. It was for her own good.

He tried not to think about it. There wasn't anything he could do, especially now, to change the fact that she was out there somewhere with their child, and he had no clue where.

It was probably for the best. If he couldn't find her, chances were, no one else could either.

That thought alone did little to repair his spirit.

* * *

To say it was over would be stretching it. Just a bit.

Mulder was on the run, an escapee from federal prison after Skinner failed to defend him properly in the trial before Deputy Director Kersh. An escape Skinner was also responsible for.

Of course, Deputy Director Kersh was dead. Apparent suicide.

Skinner knew better. Kersh was used, just like they all were. He'd served his purpose, but had grown to be suspicious of those pulling the strings.

But, it was too late for him.

Scully - he was sure - was with Mulder, and that was as it should be. He figured she'd surface somewhere, minus Mulder, but still knowing where he was. She wouldn't let him disappear again.

But, the X-Files had certainly disappeared.

Skinner couldn't help but be just a little pleased. They'd caused nothing but grief. And sure, they had some answers. But, mostly, the questions were still there.

For all they had sacrificed, they didn't have _all_ the answers.

Reyes and Doggett were reassigned. But, he didn't think that would keep them apart, either.

What surprised Skinner the most was the open position of Deputy Director had been offered to him. A position he should have been offered long ago before he chose not to play their game.

Something else he'd learned. Nobility was a bitch.

Although he should have been elated, it seemed like a hollow victory. He'd spent his life serving a government that only seemed to want to use them all to save itself.

Some were now exposed for what they were – sort of - but Skinner knew there were more out there. It was the way it worked.

He'd taken a leave of absence, but was assured the position would still be there. If he wanted it.

Hell, maybe by the time he came back, he'd know the answer to that.

Idly, he thumbed through a magazine on the coffee table of his apartment. His cleaning lady had insisted on setting them out.

Sure, the pictures were impressive. But, he never quite figured out how or when he subscribed to this particular one. It had his name on it, and when he eventually called and asked about it, he was informed that it was a lifetime subscription anonymously given to him.

Fine. Whatever. He had other things to worry about.

Or, he used to. Now that Mulder's fight, which had become all of theirs, was seemingly over, he felt at loose ends, almost as if he were at a crossroads. Had to choose his next path. The Deputy Director position or . . . what? Sure, he could take an early retirement, but what would he do. Hopefully, he had many more years ahead, and fishing his life away didn't seem like the way to go.

His eye caught one photo as he thumbed through. A rainbow, mountains in the distance, as gazelles grazed in long grass. Peaceful. Quiet. And far away.

Maybe this photographer had it figured out. Doing something he enjoyed.

His eyes drifted to the byline.

_Photos by A.T. Stanikowski_

Maybe that's what he should do. Buy a plot of land out west, maybe in the mountains, build his own cabin, hunt for his own food, watch the sunrise from his front porch with a mug of strong coffee.

That's about as quiet and peaceful as it gets.

_. . . It's the Polish genes . . ._

His brow furrowed.

The Mall by the Vietnam Memorial on a pretty spring day, cherry blossoms all around.

That wasn't unusual. He thought of her often, usually when something reminded him of her. A touch. A smell. A memory he thought he'd buried.

_. . .So, the Polish name ended there. Thankfully._

_Was it bad?_

_It is. Stanikowski . . ._

He snatched up the magazine that had fallen from his fingers. In all the African photos, the byline A.T. Stanikowski stared back at him. He reached for the other issues. The same. All the same. Right up until he started getting them.

About the time the Lone Gunmen were killed.

He sat back on the couch, not daring to believe his luck. Hell, he sounded like Mulder.

Grasping at straws. Making a leap on blind faith.

He picked up the phone, dialing the number on the editorial page.

Due to privacy issues and a prickly secretary, he didn't learn much. And, he was beginning to doubt his own runaway wishful thinking until he thought about the list.

_See a tiger in Africa._

_Swim in the Dead Sea._

No one would tell him the full name of the photographer in the photos.

It would be like her to change her last name to her grandmother's maiden name.

But, her family didn't know. Or, they wouldn't tell him.

No . . . her grandmother would have told him. So, they _didn't_ know.

That's why she disappeared from the face of the earth. He wasn't looking in the right place.

He hoped.

But, he did find out that A.T. Stanikowski was a 'she.' The secretary slipped with that one.

Africa was a huge country full of unknowns. She might not even be there. He didn't even know where to begin looking.

But, Africa? Really?

And, with a child?

Maybe the baby hadn't survived. Maybe she wasn't pregnant to begin with. Maybe it was all just a ruse to keep him occupied.

Yeah, right.

Picking up the phone, he dialed a number for a travel agency, booking the first flight he could to South Africa. He'd start there. The satellite offices for these magazines were bound to be less strict with the rules than the ones in America.

* * *

He'd found her house in Cape Town. At least, he was sure it was hers, but he was kept from entering by a strict, no-nonsense housekeeper that said, 'Miss Anna is out in the bush and would not be back for several months' in broken English, then the door was slammed in his face.

He'd come too far, shown her picture to too many people and given out way too much money for information to stop now.

It didn't take him long to figure out A.T. Stanikowski was Anna. The American photographer was well known, even in such a large bustling city as this one. She'd made herself at home, loved her adopted country and been loved in return by those she'd touched.

He wasn't really surprised. She just needed to find somewhere where she could heal. From the scars from her first marriage. And the ones he had given her.

And, he wasn't surprised to learn that her daughter was just as loved as she was.

Their daughter.

He had a daughter.

It was almost as if someone had hit him in the stomach the first time he found an answer to that question.

His interpreter told him her name. Mary Grace.

She'd be two.

That only doubled his efforts to find them.

Now, stranded on the busy streets of Cape Town in the shadow of her little cottage, he was staring at another brick wall.

Until his interpreter came through for him. It didn't take long, just a few questions to some people on the street.

The lady photographer spent most of the year almost 100 miles away in a little village called K'takleg.

That's all Skinner needed to know.

* * *

One . . . more . . . chapter . . .


	42. Chapter 42

References to "Existence" and Season 9.

* * *

He was dusty, tired and thirsty by the time their jeep limped into K'takleg.

But, he was so _close_! That thought alone spurred him on, coaxing just that many more miles out of the worn-out vehicle.

K'takleg was just like the other villages he'd passed through. Houses made from palm fronds and bamboo, a few wooden buildings scattered around them baked in the sun. Farm animals lounged about, and they sure seemed friendlier than the looks he got from the locals.

Apparently, strangers – especially American ones – weren't seen this far away from civilization that often.

And there was no sign of Anna. No light-skinned little girl running with the other children, looking just as he pictured her.

However, there was a strange beauty to the landscape, one he couldn't help but appreciate. Exotic animals, the kind he'd seen in her photos, dotted the landscape, sage grasses swaying in the wind. The mountains in the distance looked closer than they really were. He knew that from several days of rough travel over equally rough roads.

He spotted what he knew was the community well and drank greedily from it, waiting for someone to stop him. His interpreter had declined to go this trip no matter the price, but pointed him in the right direction. He hoped. His ride couldn't take much more of the heat and the dust and what passed for roads.

What little he'd picked up of the different languages and dialects helped him get this far.

The end of the road.

Just as he knew he would be, he was approached by someone. A male. Probably the tribe leader.

And, just as he figured, he couldn't understand a word the man said.

Just as he'd done in so many other dusty, little villages, he pulled the worn picture out of his shirt pocket.

He'd seen the recognition on the faces of others – people whose path she crossed – and learned not to get too excited.

This time, there was the flash of recognition.

And wariness.

His heart thudded in his chest. They were protecting her.

He'd found her. He just knew it.

With much motioning by the man, Skinner realized he was supposed to follow. Briefly, he wondered if this was it. Months and months of loneliness and searching boiled down to a meeting in the middle of Africa.

Questions surfaced, ones he wondered if he would ever find the answers. Would she be angry? Happy to see him? Indifferent?

Instead, he was brought to a little house with a clean-swept dirt yard, an older woman dressed in a colorful wrap and turban humming to herself as she hung clothes on the line outside.

The man spoke to her in a dialect he didn't understand, and she spoke sharply back, her tone clearly not pleased. She eyed Skinner haughtily before continuing with her duties, homemade clothes pins clenched in her teeth.

Skinner was surprised when she spoke to him in English.

"An American woman out here. Ha!" A dog ran underneath her clean clothes, and she reverted to her native tongue, scolding it.

Skinner cleared his throat, not wanting to tell her he agreed with her. "This is where my sources have sent me."

"Your sources? Probably a lot of bums just wanting a handout for incorrect information." Her tone suggested she held little patience for such things.

Skinner just went along with it. "Some of them."

With a flick of her wrist, she snapped the last shirt smooth of any wrinkles, hanging it deftly on the line. "We have no such woman here."

"You're lying."

She eyed him suspiciously, almost as if she was not accustomed to anyone confronting her.

He met her gaze just as stoically, daring her to contradict him.

Without warning, the woman's face softened. "The child gives me the same look when I tell her it is time to sleep."

He didn't realize he was holding his breath until she spoke, and he released it with one big whoosh before he spoke. "Mary Grace." His daughter.

"You are not to know of the child. For her safety." It was a statement of fact. Nothing accusatory in her words.

Skinner felt odd discussing this with a stranger, but who'd have thought he'd be standing in the wilds of Africa looking for Anna, anyway? "I've known since before she was born. I looked for her, but couldn't find her."

"You looked in the wrong places."

"I know that now. It's her grandmother's maiden name."

"How did you figure it out?" Now, the woman was curious.

"A whole lot of luck. And a magazine subscription from a friend." God bless John Byers, wherever he was.

The woman picked up the basket, propping it on her hip. She stood, the sun glistening off her dark skin, seeming to weigh her options.

She came to her own conclusion. "They'll be back soon." With that, she turned and walked towards the house.

Skinner was tired of playing games. "When?" he called out.

"Soon." She pulled back the curtain and headed indoors.

"Soon, my ass," Skinner muttered, pushing the brim of his hat back and wiping the sweat from his forehead.

But, soon meant a whole lot sooner than he knew.

A swarm of children rushed by him, obviously excited. He turned. And saw a Landrover that was in much better shape than his jeep, back piled high with supplies. And sitting in the passenger seat next to her driver, camera around her neck, was none other than Anna.

He had to stare as the children swarmed around her. Laughing, she called out to them in their language. Her hair was lighter than he remembered it, but the sun probably had something to do with it. She was dressed in typical safari gear – khaki pants and sleeveless shirt, a light button-down shirt over her bare shoulders to protect them from the sun and a wide-brimmed straw hat on her head. But, she threw off the hat and accepted the greetings from the children as she got down on her knees, hugging a few of them close.

He didn't even notice the teenaged girl step out of the jeep holding the hand of one small, brown haired child, her curly hair framing her face as she watched the reunion, giggling as the girl holding her poked her playfully in the stomach.

He only had eyes for Anna.

The children started pointing in his direction, pulling her towards him.

He saw her face register fear for a moment, and he could only imagine what she thought about a man looking for her and her daughter.

It could be anybody.

He just hoped that fear on her face wouldn't be there when she realized who it was.

* * *

Anna had lain awake at night, wondering what she would say if she ever saw him again.

Just, 'hi' sounded too mundane, but 'oh yeah, I left before I mentioned I was carrying your baby' seemed a little much.

Sometimes, she tried to blame him. This was his fault. If he wasn't so involved in this fight – one that originally was Fox Mulder's - then she never would have been in the situation where he would push her away. Tell her it was for her own good. She wouldn't have to run when she found out she was expecting a baby.

To be honest with herself, that wasn't the only reason she ran. She wanted to finally be free of her past, the live her life as she chose, and Africa seemed the best place to start.

It had a raw beauty she'd never seen anywhere else, and she never regretted her decision one bit.

Except for the fact that she loved him still.

She never thought he'd make it out alive. She knew Byers, Frohike and Langley were dead, only for the mere fact that the correspondence from all of them ceased with no reasons why. There was no way she could find out what happened.

She would have to contact her family directly from now on.

Was it safe? Why did they die? What next?

So, when the excited children pulled her towards Melinda's house, and she saw him watching her, his expression guarded, she stopped in her tracks, the children still tugging on her with all their might.

It wasn't some shady figure who'd finally managed to track her down, to use her to their advantage to get what they wanted from Walter.

It was Walter himself. Tired, sunburned Walter.

For a moment, she thought she was having a bad reaction to the heat and the sun. But, she blinked several times, and he was still there, watching her uncertainly.

She didn't even hear Melinda - not her African name, but her English name she often reminded Anna - emerge briefly from her house, saying something sharp to the children, scattering them to all corners of the village.

There were too many questions galloping in her mind to focus on anything but him.

He looked older. More weary.

And somehow, he'd found her.

Before she knew it, she was standing directly in front of him. It was awkward, really. Why was he here? How did he find her? What did he want?

But, he was _here_! She'd worried about him since she'd left the states, and now, here he was. In the flesh.

"Y-you're . . . alive . . ." was all she could manage. She saw new scars, fresh scars, and that was just what she could physically see. There was no telling the emotional toll.

He gave her a small smile, his eyes softening just a bit. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Her heart thudded just that much faster. She hadn't heard his voice in so long, and it still affected her like a silly schoolgirl. "The Lone Gunmen are dead. I just . . .assumed . . ."

He longed to touch her, to pull her against him and never let go, begging her forgiveness for pushing her away.

It really was for the best. She was safe. There was no telling what would have happened to her if he hadn't let her go.

Even if it did hurt like hell.

"How did you know? About Byers?" he asked.

"We . . . communicated. Through some sort of untraceable satellite signal. One day, there was no response." She shrugged. "I can't say I was surprised. I knew . . . what had been happening."

She'd kept up with him. But, he couldn't find her. Knew nothing of her.

He felt a surge of anger.

"And I had no idea where you were. None." He couldn't help the bitterness in his voice. He'd lived with it too long to hide it.

"I couldn't keep living like a hunted animal."

"Oh, and I'm sure Africa is just _so_ much safer."

"_You_ couldn't find me, could you?" She crossed her arms over her chest in a protective stance.

He clenched his jaw. "I even called your parents."

She felt a pang at the thought of how worried he was. And, somehow she wasn't surprised at their harsh words. They had to have it out at some point. "I couldn't be at your beck and call. The little woman that was there for a good lay when you needed it, but for nothing else. All in the name of my safety." She spat out the last word.

He looked like she'd slapped him. "They _took_ you, Anna! They would have killed you if Mulder . . . I just couldn't let that happen again. And, I'll stand by it. It was the right thing to do. You're healthy. Happy, at least until I came along."

"I still say you had no say in my decision."

He lowered his voice until it came out as a growl. "But, I should have had a say with my child."

Tears brimmed in her eyes, but she fought them back.

He looked away. "I've known since right after you left. The doctor's office called me . . . looking for you."

More guilt as she rubbed her eyes wearily. "Langley. He was supposed to take care of all that."

"They wouldn't tell me where you were. Only that you were safe. It was all . . . it was all I knew. All I could do was count up the weeks in my head. When Byers disappeared about the ninth month, I knew where he went."

He paused for a moment, struggling for composure. "I hated him for it. He'd seen my child, seen you. And I could do nothing."

"I . . . had no idea."

"Would it have made a difference?" he snapped.

This time, a lone tear made its way down her face. "I was keeping both of you safe. They would use your child against you, Walter. Just like Dana. I didn't like the decision, but I had to make it." Hesitantly, she placed her hand on his arm, feeling the muscles tense under her touch. "I'm sorry. I truly am. But, just as you were worried about my safety, I was worried about hers."

He knew she was right. He'd had this argument with himself plenty of times.

"Miz Anna?" The quiet voice startled them both.

Skinner was glad for the interruption. But, when he saw the source of it, his breath caught in his throat.

Anna turned around. "What is it, Melly?"

"She's asking for you." The teenager jiggled Mary Grace in her arms as the little girl reached out for her mother to take her.

"Mom!" Mary Grace said excitedly. "See?" She held out her hand to reveal a tiny green tree frog.

"Don't squish him, hon."

"I won't," she said solemnly, carefully cradling the little creature.

Anna buried her face in her daughter's hair for a moment, breathing deep of the little girl smell. She needed all the strength she could get.

She had her mother's nose and mouth, but her eyes were unmistakably his. Especially after she looked at him warily.

It was a look he knew he used more often than not.

The catch in his throat startled him.

But, what surprised him the most was the child's reaction.

Carefully, she leaned towards him as Anna held her propped on her hip. He blinked as her hand – the one not holding the frog – patted him softly on the cheek.

She said something, something he couldn't understand. Which surprised him because to be almost two, she was talking very plainly just a moment before.

When he looked to Anna for confirmation, she was watching her daughter with something akin to shock.

When her eyes met his, all trace of their earlier disagreement had disappeared.

"What did she say?" he asked softly.

Anna's voice was quiet. "It's a tribal word. It means . . . 'father.'

Mary Grace reached over and patted him on the cheek again. "Father!" When her frog jumped out of her hand, she squealed with glee, causing a few of the children to gather at their feet. Squirming in Anna's arms, Mary Grace decided she wanted down, and Anna sat her on the ground. She scampered off, her pale skin sticking out among the darker shades of the other children. Their laughter echoed past them long after they'd disappeared from sight, leaving the two of them standing alone once again.

"I've always told her about you. Showed her pictures. She's . . . she's so young, I never would have thought . . ." Anna wiped the tears from her eyes impatiently.

"She's beautiful," he said simply.

"I wasn't going to keep her from you forever, Walter. Just . . . just until . . . well until it was . . . over." Her eyes implored with his. "It is, isn't it?"

He nodded. "It's done."

"Mulder? Scully?"

Skinner pursed his lips.

"I know he's alive. Remember? Byers?"

He took a deep breath. "He's on the run from a federal prison. She's with him, I assume. It's . . . it's a long story."

She had no doubt.

"What about . . . Krychek?"

"He's dead."

She didn't look surprised. "They told me, but wouldn't give me details."

"I shot him," he said simply. Those few words didn't convey the emotion he felt at taking someone's life, even if it was someone who would have killed him without a thought.

"So, the . . . the nanotechnology?"

"It died with him. There's no trace of it."

Her eyes searched his. "You're not OK." It wasn't a question. There was no comparison to what he'd seen in her absence, not to mention what she put him through.

Once again, he found himself staring into her green eyes, so full of compassion, just as they were the night in Gordo's so long ago when she offered him a bridge over the madness with her kind gestures.

She'd been through so much. So much she could have been protected from if he had just stayed away from her as his common sense told him to.

Then again, he would have missed out on so much.

And now, they had Mary Grace.

This time, he didn't second guess himself. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her, all of the longing and worry and sleepless nights fading as she melded into the embrace.

Neither one of them noticed the face that peered at them from inside the cabin, watching their reunion.

Melinda knew. She'd seen it in Anna's face long before Anna actually spoke of him. The older woman finally asked the day she saw Anna showing Mary Grace pictures of her father when she couldn't have been more than a few months old. She knew the heartache and the pain her American friend endured daily, her only escape her photography and her daughter.

And, if this FBI man was smart enough to find her, wanted badly enough to do so, then Anna would be in good hands.

"It's about damn time," she muttered as she let the curtains fall back into place.

* * *

'I made this!' (Sorry, had to say it – heard it for 9 years after the end of each episode, didn't we?) Oh, and I STILL don't own 'The X-Files.' So, don't sue me. I'm poor.

Thanks for sticking around and putting up with my crazy ideas. Off to torture some other poor, unsuspecting readers with more of my fan fics. Thinking about playing in the world of "Boston Legal," but I haven't really decided yet. Ta ta!


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